#but i can get really overzealous with alcohol

[stoopkidtree]

Real talk. How do you make friends in person. Without going to a bar as like. A 21 year old looking for friends their age

[star-girl69]

After Midnight

Caroline (KK) Harvey x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: flirting with the star hockey player at the frat party isn’t what you would normally do, but it’s after midnight and something about the lights is making everything a little hazy.

feel free to send requests!!! 🫶🫶

a/n: GUYS PLEASE. PLEASE IGNORE THIS. i’m sorry i’ve betrayed all my morals… but i cant sit idly by while my fellow kk lovers suffer… i hope you all enjoy!!

After Midnight - Chappell Roan

warnings: not proofread!!!, ALCOHOL!!! we are in a FRAT people!!, some swearing ofc, super brief barely there mentions of violence and such, kk is taller than reader by like an inch suck it idc i do what i want, super brief mention of y/n having hair (length unspecified), idk like a bit of kissing and some somewhat suggestive thoughts… y/n is a freak 💔, i’ve never flirted with anyone before how do you do this, so probs inaccurate, i don’t know anything about hockey just prefacing this, i also don’t know how college works rip, as chappell roan said: “i love a little drama, let’s start a bar fight, cause everything good happens after midnight”

—-

“Shit, babe, you look fuckin’ hot.”

This entire night is almost painful for you. Stepping out of your comfort zone on any level is always an adjustment, but trading your early nights in with homework and Netflix for a sexy dress showing everything in all the right and wrong places- is especially hard.

You almost cringe touching the velvet fabric of your revealing dark red shirt, staring at someone in the mirror you don’t even recognize.

“Jackie,” you mumble to your best friend and roommate, “I think it’s.. too much.”

Jackie tilts her head to the side, short dirty blonde hair swaying with the movement. She’s only humoring you, you can tell. “Nope. Perfect.”

You look at the pictures stuck in the slats of the mirror. Pictures of you, Jackie, and the other girl in your trio, Tyla, faces pressed together in bright smiles from various adventures from your freshman year at college.

It was such a relief when Jackie was the sweetest girl and an amazing person to share a dorm with, but when she brought along her best friend Tyla from a few doors down- the three of you fell into a quick and beautiful friendship, like the ones in the movies.

Jackie and Tyla were definitely more on the party girl side than the study girl side, but that was what was so great about your friendship. You reminded them that they did in fact have homework, and they pushed you to do things like this every once in a while.

This was the first time you had ever suggested it. Midterms were over- it would be wrong to not celebrate. To breathe in the few seconds you had left as a freshman, before it all got turned up again for sophomore year.

“Okay,” Jackie breathes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “Take a deep breath, babe. The fit is a lot, yes, but it’s gorgeous. I mean, damn, where have you been hiding that ass?”

You bite your lip, eyes tearing away from the pictures, meeting Jackie’s eyes in the reflection.

“My ass does look really good,” you concede.

“Hell yeah it does!” Jackie shouts, smiling brightly. “Don’t be nervous, okay? It’s just some random frat party. We can go sit outside if it gets too much.”

It’s break. It’s Friday night. You look good, however uncomfortable you are.

“Fuck,” you mumble. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m just gonna do a few shots when we get there.”

“That’s my girl.”

Jackie thinks for a moment. “Besides, I think it’s a party to celebrate the girls hockey team winning a game, or something like that. The attention is gonna be far away from you. But…”

She trails off, picking at a piece of thread hanging from her comforter.

“What?” You ask, heart jumping to your throat in fear.

“Dylan might be there,” she shrugs.

Ugh.

Dylan.

Dylan wasn’t even that big of a problem, just a boy you had overzealously dated right when you got to college, when you were adjusting and still kind of lonely, only to find out his obsessive, stalker-ish personality was literal hell to be in a relationship with.

After maybe a week of constant love-bombing and clinginess, you broke up with him- and he tried for literal months to get your attention before he finally seemed to give up.

Once in a while, you’d see him at these parties, and he’d stare at you in a way that was probably supposed to be sexy, but was only weird and uncomfortable.

“Who gives a fuck about him?” You ask, your own surprise reflected in Jackie’s face.

“Damn, girl. Yeah, you’re fuckin’ right. Who gives a fuck about his sad ass?”

“I don’t,” you scoff, refusing to let him ruin your night.

The bathroom door slams open suddenly, revealing Tyla in an even more revealing black dress. Skin tight with cut outs showing her dark skin.

“Jesus Christ, I pity the other girls at that bar.” Tyla runs her hands down her sides, smiling brightly in a way that can only be joking.

And you laugh, and you laugh when she softly bumps you away from the mirror and admires herself even more.

—-

Because of this rash decision to go out, Tyla hadn’t done her usual shopping for the pregame so you were forced to go to the party early- which Tyla actually groaned at and complained about how “embarrassing” it was. But after a few shots, that embarrassment fell away and she was back to being the funny, confident girl you knew her as.

You talked amongst the three of you, and with the two boys who were acting as bartenders, until more and more people slowly started filing in and the sky got dark. It was probably close to 10pm by the time the party really got busy, and those first two hours faded into a montage of alcohol stinging your throat and the sounds of your best friends laughing.

When the hockey team finally arrived, you were sitting on a couch with your girls, Tyla talking in this played-up sensual voice to a random boy who had taken an interest in her, while you and Jackie were busy scouting out the new arrivals and the different kinds of alcohol they placed on the table.

Even if Jackie hadn’t off-handedly mentioned it earlier, you quickly would have found out who this party was for. A large group of girls walked into the party, immediately met with cheers and shots, swarmed with alcohol and congratulations.

Some guy, probably one who actually lived in this house, whipped out a shitty megaphone and shouted their arrival, but it wasn’t even that loud.

Even you, however studious you were, knew about the girl’s hockey team. A bunch of them had played on the Olympic team a few years ago, and all the students of this D1 school were generally pretty proud that the Wisconsin team had won the most national championships.

Most of them were wearing their jerseys, but a few had dressed up. The girl’s hockey team was probably the hottest, most talented group of girls to ever be within 100 feet of you.

It was almost unfair how all of them were so beautiful and so talented, but you suppose that the rigorous workout schedules of Olympic and national athletes didn’t leave a lot of room for anything other than a fuck ton of muscles.

God, half of them towered over you and all of them could probably break your wrist with just a flick.

It was impressive.

What was most impressive, though, is the way the infamous Caroline Harvey walked in carrying about 27 cases of beer, which must have weighed as much as this fucking house, and effortlessly set it all on the ground beside the table full of red solo cups, chasers, and bottles of vodka.

Cheers rang out and people scrambled towards it, ripping the cardboard boxes open greedily and opening them just as fast.

You watched, hiding your parted mouth with your hand, as Caroline accepted an open beer from someone, cheers with a few of her teammates and drank a long sip. When she was done, she laughed and lifted her shirt to her mouth to wipe off some stray liquid, a movement that let just a sliver of her toned abs peek through.

“Holy fuck,” you whispered, quickly looking to the floor and deciding hockey was your new favorite sport.

You knew her from around campus, you both liked to study in the library at the same time- around 3 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it became kind of tradition to just stare at her for a few minutes in between sections of your work. Almost like some weird little reward. You did feel kind of bad about it, but fuck, there was no way you could stop.

Besides, it’s not like she noticed.

You always sat on opposite sides of the library, and she never once even looked in your direction. What Caroline didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and you never see her unless it’s at the library or in passing at parties. But, God, doesn’t it feel good to just relish in how beautiful she is and stare for just a bit.

“Y/N, babe.”

Jackie knocked herself into you, her knees tucked up to her chest, some sort of a smile on her face.

“What’cha doin’?” She asks, smiling in a way that can only be described as evil. “Starin’? Hockey player pique your interest, huh?”

“No,” you say, forcing a laugh into your voice and rolling your eyes. “Just lookin’ at all the commotion.”

You’re trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but now that Jackie’s mentioned it- those abs did pique your interest. And now they came flashing behind your eyes every time you blink.

“Oh, my God, I think I’m in heat,” you mumble, slightly to yourself and slightly to Jackie.

She wraps a lazy arm around your shoulder, letting out a sigh. “Oh, sweet girl, don’t worry. I’ve got you. Which one is it?”

“Caroline,” you mumble, so quiet and so sudden before you can really think about it.

Jackie hums, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t know a whole lot about her, but I heard she had a girlfriend freshman year, so definitely into girls. Not dating anyone right now, though. Olympian, hockey player, all that sexy stuff.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you mumble, sneaking a quick glance and then looking away immediately when she takes another sip of her drink, not wanting to know what would happen if you caught another glimpse of those god-sent abs.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it?” Jackie asks, nudging your head with hers.

“No, no,” you dismiss. “Just… being a freak. Admiring. God, I’m pathetic.”

Jackie laughs, abruptly standing and pulling you to your feet too. “Come on, babe, time for more drinks, let’s get your mind off of this if you’re not gonna make a move.”

You roll your eyes but follow her to the table of drinks farthest away from Caroline and the other hockey players. You’re not going to do anything, it’s not like you have a chance, and you’re just bored without schoolwork to occupy your every thought.

You take a deep breath, standing next to Jackie and surveying your options. Jackie choses for the both of you, definitely the more experienced party girl, mixing a drink that is majority vodka, making you groan slightly just at the thought of it.

“Here you go!” Jackie smiles, placing the red solo cup into your hand, smiling like she’s not trying to give you alcohol poisoning. Her gaze fixes on something behind you, and you faintly register the way her eyes light up- already a little tipsy from the few shots you’ve done- but you can’t even be bothered to question why.

You eye your drink suspiciously, mentally preparing yourself for the taste.

“Whoops,” Jackie mutters, and you look up at her only to feel her push you back.

“Jackie-” you start, angry, and she quickly scurries away from you. You want to kill her a little bit, at least question her- but you don’t get the chance to.

You gasp as you slam into someone behind you, drink splashing all over your front, alcohol mixing with the rich velvet texture of your shirt in a way that might very well ruin it. You bite your lip, glancing around the room, grateful that the room is so crowded and busy that no one noticed.

“Damn Harvey, knockin’ girls over on and off the ice,” someone laughs. You think you hear the sound of someone lightly hitting another person, followed by a small “ow.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

You turn around, Jackie nowhere to be found, and completely freeze when you realize not only did the person you slammed into have enough decency to ask if you were okay, but that person was fucking Caroline Harvey.

You would have laughed at how cliche it was if you weren’t so secretly exhilarated. The only reason you even had this drink was to stop shamefully staring at her.

But she’s right in front of you… and she looks even better like this, cheeks slightly flushed already from the alcohol, a glint in her eyes.

Her eyes meet yours, staring at you in obvious confusion and concern- “Hey? You okay?”

She places her hand on your waist and you suddenly return back into your body, looking anywhere but her eyes that were literally fucking drowning you.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I-I’m fine. I’m just, like, really drunk.” You laugh, awkwardly, trying to pretend that you’re talking to just anyone. Trying to pretend like her hand on your waist wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

She smiles, Jesus Christ that fucking smile, your knees go a little weak.

“Oh, good. Would be a shame if that pretty head got a concussion.”

You laugh, staring at her smile. Intoxicating. It’s the only word that comes to mind- maybe enchanted. She’s like some drug, and, God, it’s so stupid but you think you might be addicted after hearing her voice just once.

And, the suddenly, so vividly you almost fall over again, you realize what she said to you.

“Here, let me help you,” she says, effortlessly taking the now pretty much empty red solo cup from you and placing it on the table behind you, wrapping her arm around your waist and leading you to what you assume is a bathroom, probably where she was originally going. “I’m Caroline, but you can call me KK.”

Your mouth is slightly agape as she leads you through the crowd, and you suddenly pass by Jackie who gives you a big smile and a thumbs up- disappearing into the crowd before you can curse her name.

Fuck it. She’s right in front of you. The alcohol is getting to your head, the dim lighting is making everything hazy- everything except her pretty blue eyes and her intoxicating smile.

“KK,” you say, testing the nickname. “That’s cute. I’m Y/N.”

“That’s cute,” she echoes, and the way you can hear the smile on her voice seriously makes you almost fall over.

Thankfully, the bathroom she leads you to is kind of out of the way, it’s completely empty and the door clicks behind the two of you.

Your mood immediately deflates when you see yourself in the mirror, your top noticeably darker where sticky alcohol has sunk into the fabric.

“Fuck,” you mumble, peeling the sticky fabric from your skin.

Before you can even think to do anything, Caroline- KK- is running a random hand towel under the sink and gesturing to you. You expect her to hand it to you- but she doesn’t.

“Okay if I touch you?”

God in Heaven.

“Y-yeah,” you choke out, feeling your world literally recalibrate when she puts her hand on your shoulder- so fucking close to your neck- to keep you steady. You always thought it was the stereotype that basketball players have big hands, but apparently hockey players do too.

Her hand is really warm. This bathroom is suddenly really warm. Your cheeks are heating up, and as much as you try to tell yourself it’s from the alcohol- you know it’s not.

“Sorry,” she mumbles after a few more seconds. “I don’t think this is gonna do much. Maybe try putting it in the wash, though.”

You sigh, now turned sideways, hip to the bathroom sink, looking at yourself out of the corner of your eye.

“It’s fine, my friend… bumped into me, and then I backed up straight into you. Not your fault.”

You look up at her, realizing at this close proximity that she’s taller than you, maybe only an inch.

“I might just go home,” you sigh, feeling kind of disgusting in this nasty shirt.

A frown immediately forms on her face.

“Party’s just started, though. Can’t go home yet, baby.”

She wants you to die. She literally wants you to die. She’s secretly an assassin, and you’ve blocked out the memory of some horrible crime you’ve committed, and now she’s here to kill you by calling you baby and having the sexiest abs you’ve ever seen.

Not a bad way to go, though.

“Here,” she says, reaching up and tugging her jersey over her head, again revealing those fucking abs, and she’s left in a black tank top you didn’t even notice the first time you were staring at her abs. “Take my jersey.”

“Oh, no. I can’t, KK. I mean…”

“I was getting hot anyways, it’s good. Take it.”

It’s nicer quality than any other jersey you’ve ever touched before- nicer than the obligatory Wisconsin sweatshirt you bought at the school store.

You cough, taking it with a hand that shakes slightly, not able to look at her.

“…Thank you,” you say after a moment.

She smiles, big and goofy. “It’s no problem. Maybe you can repay me by having a drink with me, though?”

You pretend to think about it, but really you have to knock your knees together so you don’t fall to the floor in excitement.

“That’s a pretty good price.”

You finally meet her eyes, holding your breath as she stares into your eyes like they’re a lifeline.

“Yeah, a drink with my sexy self- pretty good fuckin’ deal.”

You laugh, and she takes a step back, looking you up and down in a way that literally gives you butterflies-

“I’ll let you change,” she says. “Come find me when you’re done, yeah, baby?”

“I’ll find you,” you breathe, turning around to start slipping off your shirt so she doesn’t see the way you literally bite your lip.

The jersey is huge, since they have to be to cover all the padding and gear hockey players wear, and you’re almost worried that you’d look really stupid in it- but your jean bottoms pull it together, somehow.

It smells good. It smells dark, like a forest, still with a hint of something fresh and light. Is this her perfume? You might want to bathe in it.

You still look pretty good, and your mind races, wondering if KK would compliment you in it- but someone bangs on the bathroom door.

“Y/N?!” Jackie. “Y/N? Holy fucking shit- did I just see what I think I saw?!”

Tyla quickly shouts too. “I got dragged away from a really hot guy for this!! Please tell me it’s true!!!”

You open the door wordlessly, holding your hands out wide so Jackie and Tyla can see the the jersey, the Badgers emblem.

“Ladies, hold your applause.”

“What the fuck!” Tyla screams, forcing you to turn around, then tracing a finger along your back, no doubt where Caroline’s last name is printed on. “Harvey. Fucking Caroline Harvey.”

“God, she’s so hot,” Jackie groans, and you whip around to shoot her a glare. “Calm down, jealous bitch, I mean this is hot. Fuck, does she have any friends? This red is a good color on me…”

“Well,” you smile, mirroring Jackie’s own “evil” smile from earlier, “She said to come find her and get a drink. With her.”

“A drink…” Tyla breathes. “With… fucking Caroline Harvey?”

“Fucking Caroline Harvey.”

“I think I might faint from, like, secondhand hotness.”

“Well,” Jackie starts, looking away from the jersey in awe and back at your face, “You look hot. Go over there right now, get that girl, and make out. Just- right on the couch. Fuck right on the couch.”

“I second that,” Tyla smiles, adjusting the jersey slightly. “Fuck her.”

“Okay, shut up, thanks. We’ll see where the night goes.”

“Oh, my God, I can’t even believe you’re doing this. What happened to my little studious best friend?”

“Alcohol,” you shrug, momentarily wondering if you would regret all of this the next morning- but everything is just so goddamn hazy in this frat house, and you can’t think straight, can’t think about anything other than her.

“Okay, okay,” Tyla says, grabbing your shoulders and staring into your eyes like she’s about to gift you with the greatest wisdom. “You want her to come back?”

You inhale sharply. “Maybe.”

“Okay, well, if this goes good- you gotta leave her before midnight.” She glances at her watch, “It’s 11:06 right now, flirt her and romance her, all that, but leave before midnight, got it?”

“Um… why, though?”

“To keep her guessing, to keep her thinking about you, obviously,” Tyla rolls her eyes. “Trust me girl. We’ll meet you outside at 12 and then take an Uber back, right?”

“Right,” you and Jackie both repeat.

“If you really want her, before midnight, okay?”

“Okay, okay, Tyla. I’ll meet you guys then?”

Jackie pretends to wipe a few tears away. “My girl’s all grown up.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hugging both of them quickly before disappearing into the crowd of people.

—-

You make your way towards a big couch, some armchairs, and a coffee table filled with liquor.

KK’s eyes light up when she sees you, and you notice there’s a conveniently placed empty seat right next to her, and two cups in her hands.

You don’t think anyone has noticed you wearing her jersey yet, and if someone has commented on KK’s lack of jersey, you can’t tell. You smooth it down, take a deep breath and plaster a smile on your face.

A seductive one, you hope, one like Tyla would do. And with the way she mirrors your smile with her own- except this one is just as big and goofy- you think it’s working.

“Y/N?”

Someone walks past you, then immediately stops and steps back, looking right at you.

“Yeah-?”

Oh.

“Hi, Dylan,” you mutter, smile falling from your face immediately.

“Y/N. I haven’t seen you in… forever, it feels like. How’ya been?”

“I’m fine, Dylan. I’m sorry, I’m meeting somebody, okay?” His face falls, and you feel sort of bad, so you add on “Talk soon,” to make yourself feel better.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing your arm, eyes moving from yours down to your outfit. “The fuck are you wearing? A jersey?”

“…Yes,” you say after a moment, genuinely confused until you remember how much Dylan despises sports, thinks they’re all just some popularity contest. “Okay, I’m meeting someone. Bye, Dylan.”

“Hi,” a new voice says, and you smile just a bit when you realize it’s Caroline. “I’m Caroline,” she says, ever-so politely, and it kinda makes your stomach twist. “Are you a friend of Y/N’s?”

Dylan’s eyes narrow at her. “No, I’m her ex.”

“Oh, my God,” you mumble to yourself, stepping close to Caroline. “Shut up.”

KK shoots you a look, and you can’t help but avoid your eyes. You tug your arm away from Dylan, but he doesn’t budge.

“Dylan, please,” you sigh. “I have to go, okay? Let go.”

“No, Y/N, come on-”

“Uh, I think she said let go, buddy.” She still has that same smile on her face, but your eyes flick to her exposed arms, now noticing just how much muscle is there too. There’s this glint to her smile, this edge to her voice, and you would genuinely be kinda scared if it was directed at you.

“This doesn’t involve you,” Dylan huffs. “Y/N and I need to talk- why the fuck are you going around trying to purposefully piss me off? You know I hate sports.”

“Dylan,” you start, genuinely having to take a deep breath. “We dated for a week in freshman year. Let go of me, stop embarrassing yourself, and stop talking to us.”

He stares at you, before scoffing and letting your arm drop. “You’re such a fucking bitch.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Thank you, Dylan, goodbye.” You turn around, wondering if KK is even going to be there anymore. “I’m sorry-”

“What the fuck is his problem?” She says, and you genuinely smile at the pure disgust on her face. “Seriously- what?”

“I’m sorry,” you giggle. “It’s just… you’re so, disgusted by him.”

“You aren’t?”

“Well, yeah. But I know him.”

“And I’m sorry for that. I met him once and I never want to meet him again. Weird fucking bitch.”

You laugh again, linking your arm through hers without thinking. “Thanks for trying to defend me, though. I’m sorry- he’s just… an annoying bug that won’t go away, normally he doesn’t talk to me- but I guess he was bored tonight.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry, I think we lost the seats I saved.”

You look towards the couch, now completely filled with hockey players. “It’s okay,” you hum. “We can find somewhere else. Wanna go outside?”

—-

With the hum of the party behind you, and the stream of people walking out and walking in, the little bench on the corner of the porch was shrouded in darkness, and you felt like you were just in your own little corner with KK.

You sipped on the drink she had gotten you, exchanging basic information like what majors you were taking, how many siblings you had, and al that boring stuff before she finally stopped talking and just looked at you for a moment.

“What?” you asked, wiping some of your sip from around your lips.

She smiles. “Nothing. My jersey just looks nice on you.”

“Oh,” you say, stupidly. “Really? I was worried it didn’t get the same vibe as my original fit.”

“No, I would say you look even better.”

You smile, taking another sip for confidence before you place your hand on her arm. “So, tell me about hockey. Maybe workout routines?”

She laughs. “Workout routines?”

You softly squeeze her bicep. “Well, you don’t get these by just sitting around, do you?”

She takes a sip of her drink, trying to slyly cover her face, and you smile even wider.

“No, you don’t.” When she looks back at you, there’s the faintest hint of something on her cheeks, you don’t move your hand, sinking back into that addiction of making her blush. “Mostly lifting weights, cardio, boring things.”

“M’kay, what about actual hockey? I heard you were an Olympian, right?”

She flexes her other arm, and you can see a tattoo made up of the Olympics logo, intertwining rings, on her inner bicep.

“I’m defense, number 4, and I’m basically the star of the team.”

“Really?” You laugh, pressing your thigh against hers. “Would your other teammates agree with that?”

“Ehhh, maybe don’t ask them so you stay all impressed.”

You smile, and suddenly you realize you’ve been smiling all night ever since you started talking to her. And it feels so good to smile with her, it feels so good to be all giddy, and even when Dylan was bothering you it felt good knowing she was right behind you. And it felt even better when you turned around and she was still behind you.

“Can I have your number?” You blurt out.

“Course, baby.”

You hand her your phone, feeling like a damn middle schooler with a raging crush, and she hands you hers.

You make your contact name Jersey Stealer and she laughs when she sees it, and that sound might be your favorite thing about her- second only to her abs.

You can feel the night coming to the end, but it’s a good end, a comfortable one, and there’s definitely doors unopened and words unsaid. It feels like a really sweet beginning to something really beautiful.

You check your phone, smiling at the contact name of Hockey Star and seeing the time is 11:58.

“My friends are waiting for me,” you say, almost with a grimace. The night is coming to an end but you still don’t want it to end. And like clockwork, you watch as Jackie and Tyla walk out of the party arm in arm- sneaking subtle glances all the way to the end of the driveway, eventually disappearing out of sight behind a tree.

“Oh,” she says. “No problem.”

She sounds disappointed. It makes your stomach twist yet again, to know she doesn’t want this to end as much as you do.

You both stand up and walk to the edge of the porch, down the steps and onto the concrete walkway to the driveway. Somewhere along the way, your hand had slipped into yours.

You stop where concrete meets driveway, turning around to face her. She tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of her skin on yours. It feels like an electric rush, like an addictive high.

“I’m really glad I give you a concussion.”

You laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t either.”

She looks from your lips back to your eyes, and you’re suddenly reminded that, yes, kissing exists- and you suddenly want to kiss her. Badly.

Fuck.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you go.”

You softly place your hand on her face. You lean forward, placing your lips in a grey area between her cheek and her lips.

“Goodnight, Caroline,” you whisper, an inch away from her skin.

Suddenly she surges forward, lips fully pressing against yours, hand on your waist, and God does the feeling of her lips on yours feel so good, so right.

Oh, God. She’s succeeded in killing you, you think to yourself- everything fading out for a moment before it all comes rushing back in. The sounds of the party, the chill of the nighttime air, and the sweet sweet feeling of Caroline’s lips on yours.

You don’t think your lips will ever recover from this feeling, from the weight of her lips on yours- you’ll always be chasing this feeling, this moment.

Tyla’s words flash in your mind. You revel in this moment for a heartbeat longer until, just as quick as she kissed you, you pull back.

“Didn’t know you were the type to kiss girls on the first date, Harvey. How scandalous.”

She seems disappointed you pulled away. You can see it in her pretty blue eyes- it makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.

“Are you really just any girl?”

“Nope,” you smile, silently thanking Tyla and every star in the sky- you can see it in her eyes, the way she wants to kiss you senseless, and if the game didn’t feel so good you would have let her.

And the way she’s looking at you, slightly blown away, completely in awe, lips parted but curling into a smile- it gives you an addictive rush.

“Text me when you want your jersey back.”

You take a step back, softly prying her hand off of your waist, but holding onto it for a moment.

“Oh, no, you can wear that to my next game.”

“Really?” You smile, fingertips grazing the back of her knuckles as she tries to hold onto you, but you eventually let go. “You’ll save me a good seat?”

“The best seat,” she corrects. “For the best girl.”

This time, you don’t bother to try and hide the way she makes you feel. You clench your thighs together and let your tongue dart out to slightly lick your lips.

“I’ll be there. You better win, though.” You turn around, then look over your shoulder to see her eyes fall down to your ass.

“With a pretty good luck charm like you? I’ll probably score the winning goal.”

“Bye, Caroline,” you say over your shoulder, smiling so brightly you’re sure you look all lovesick. You can’t care, it’s just how you feel for her. Maybe you should be embarrassed, the way she makes you feel kinda like silly putty in her hands, but it feels so good. So right.

“Bye, Y/N.” Her voice is breathy.

And when you check your phone, you see it’s after midnight. So much for Tyla’s advice.

But, you think to yourself, shoes clicking on concrete and KK’s gaze on your back, you kissed her after midnight- maybe all the good things just happen after midnight.

—-

laila when kk hit her for saying the taking girls down on and off the ice thing: 😞😞😞💔💔💔💔💔

y/n also being happy that she left kk AFTER midnight bc she doesn’t just want her she actually likes her

jackie and tyla wingwoman supremes i love them sm

dylan you are annoying i wish you suffering

[thecapricunt1616]

Allspice (c.b oneshot)

𝐵𝓁𝓊𝓇𝒷 (𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐵𝒯𝒞): You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly.  Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh.  “Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table. 

♡ O.S Inspo: Forever & Always - Fearless (TV) ; "Was I out of line, did I say something way too honest, made you run and hide like a scared little boy?" ♡ Pairing : CarmyxAFAB Reader as little physical description possible | She/Her pronouns used, NO use of Y/N :) ♡ Summary: You have a very successful Culinary Review blog, the social media manager of one of your new hometown restaurants 'The Bear' has been dying to get you out to try their food. But since the EC is a bit of an overzealous competitor, you end up having to go back for round 2- you end up having a delicious dinner, and a free show.

♡ W/C: 4,381

♡ Posted Date: 03/18/24

♡ A/N: FIRST THING: I am HORRIDDDD at writing Claire- I'm much better at writing Carmy cause were alot more similar- so this Claire isn't gonna be CRAZY canon, but I think she got the job done. Anyway- EEEEEP!!! Here is my VERY FIRST ONE SHOT EVER!! Inspired by my amazing, wonderful, PRECIOUS FLOWER @daysofyellowroses that can be found here :) AAAAA!!! My precious Rose I hope you enjoy this, It could ABSOLUTELY have a part 2 if y'all like it. I ended it here cause I'm sooo wordy and I didn't want it to turn in to a multi-chap. fic by mistake...but ofc if y'all want more just tell me and ill get RIGHT TO WORK!!! I really hope this comes off how I saw it in my head. There's no smut/sexy stuff, just mutual pining and flirty teasing, I hope thats ok!! aaa here we goooo!!! Enjoy <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Drinking alcohol (Literally it LOL)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Being a Food Critic wasn’t an easy gig, as much as people wanted to believe it’s simply going to famous restaurants, trying their most popular dishes- and giving your opinion, it was much more then that. 

Each and every aspect of the restaurant was under your review, from the second you walked in the door, you were judging everything. From the atmosphere, to the music, to the decor, to the comfortability of the furniture all of it, was to meet your expectations if the owner of the establishment wanted a good review.

Today was finally the day you'd review one of the restaurants that had sent 3 requests for you to feature a review of them on your blog. 

The Bear. Interesting name, you thought.

With the rugged name- you’d assumed a more millennial hipster-New American vibe. But when you’d arrived- you were quite…impressed? That instead of leaning into that all too common aesthetic, it was more of a classy, comfortable vibe. 

They’d not even had bear art, anything of the sort. It was pure comfort, mixed with subtle class. The kind that spoke to the cost of the dishes- but wasn’t in your face obnoxious. The only ‘Bear�� was the little golden bear embossed into the leather menu you’d been handed when seated at the table. 

The way you did your reviews was…a tad unusual - some chefs in the industry called it ‘unfair’ but you called it…the fairest things could be. Instead of telling them when you’d be swinging by for a review since where’s the fun in that you’d call, make a reservation under some random name, and they’d know you’d accepted their offer when the review had been posted on your blog. 

It felt most honest and fair because you were one of the most renowned food critics in the country right now. If they knew you were coming- any EC with a brain would spend the night before your arrival, prepping the entire restaurant and staff - assuring they’d be on their best behavior to try and squeeze a higher grade out of you.

 But you were just a reader once upon a time, years ago- when you realized in culinary school that the making of the art didn’t interest you, it was the observing. Food wasn’t just about taste, but rather the whole experience. And if every famous food critic you’d taken interest in back in the day- never got a true experience due to their notability? You’d never have gotten into this field. So, you were most keen on keeping things fair. 

A woman with mousey brown hair comes up to your table, dressed in the typical waitress slacks and black button up shirt. “Hello! Welcome to The Bear. My name is Sam, have you dined with us before?” she asks. 

You sit up in your chair, peeling your eyes from the menu. You give her a small kind smile “I haven’t” you replied, urging her to continue her script. 

“Well welcome in, we're so happy you chose to spend your evening with us. So for our menu” she opens it in front of you. “Here” she points “are our wine options, fabulous selection this month. Then we have draft beers right next to it. On the following page” she points “all of our craft cocktails, then this,” she points in the bottom corner. 

“Our house cocktail - Just called The Bear. It’s wonderful, if you like old fashions you’ll love this - made with Bearface Triple Oak Whiskey.” She said and you nod. 

 “That please. That’s what I’ll start with” you said and she nodded. 

“I’ll get that right in. But quickly, just so you’re aware” she flipped the page and pointed. 

“These - are the dishes of the month. Each crafted by one of our two head chefs, they change monthly so if something calls to you I recommend you try- because it won’t be back” she said. You raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise and nod. 

“Thank you” you said and she gives a nod before heading off to the bar to put in your drink order before heading off to tend to other tables in your section. 

Having an alternating menu intrigued you, for such a high end establishment- one with a Michelin star at that- implementing such a menu would consistently have their star at risk. One dish, one app, one drink- that was not up to par and it would be revoked. You guessed the owners of this place liked living on the edge, as if being in this industry wasn’t already being constantly on edge. 

You gaze over the menu, the Chilean Seabass sounded like a fair assessment. Seafood was quite difficult to get right, especially in the springtime before peak season, and you’d be able to judge the consistency of the chopping and such because there was a fresh tomato corn salad that came with it. That was your rule when you came to judge restaurants, one main course, and one dessert.  

You’d felt like the main courses were the true stars of the show anyhow, and it would be unfair to muck up your palate with an app that was usually something easy to get right (since they were usually fried, covered in cheese, or some kind of carb). And the dessert usually showed the restaurant's creativity, which you loved to see, so 2 dishes was your max. 

The waitress returns with the cocktail, setting it down with a napkin under it. “Here you are, now- have you decided on a starter?” She questioned and you shook your head. 

“Straight to the good stuff, I’d like the Chilean Sea Bass please. And for dessert,” you flick the page and your eyes settle on the words savory cannoli - hmm, imaginative indeed. “And uh- The Michael Cannoli?” You said, shutting the menu and handing it to her. 

She nods with a smile, jotting down the order into her notepad before taking the menu and holding it to her chest. “That will be out soon as possible. Enjoy your drink” she said and headed back to the kitchen. 

You sit back sipping the cocktail and humming. She was right, much like an old fashioned, but floral notes. Almost…chamomile? Yes! That was it. Very interesting.

You slipped your iPad out of your bag, opening up your journaling app and grabbing the pencil out of the little sleeve. You quickly snapped a picture with your phone of the drink, airdropping it to yourself and adding it into the entry and writing;

‘To start; ‘The Bear’ house cocktail- initial thoughts ; not too sweet, strong (but not overpowering), chamomile? Some kind of herbal tea flower’ 

You take another sip, letting the flavors sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm!” You hum to yourself, finally realizing where the herby taste beneath the chamomile was coming from that gave it that oaky piney taste. 

‘Angostura bitters- will confirm!!’ You wrote just as someone approaches your table. You look up to see a man, short brown hair, stubble. He was smiling, holding a plate. 

“Hello! Here we have Arancini with our house-made pesto, courtesy of Executive Chef Carmen” he placed the dish in front of you next to your iPad. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking up at him, scarcel confused. 

“Wrong table” you murmured, thumbing the dish back in his direction lightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Nope- ah, he- he said this table.” He replied. It did smell fantastic, and any other day you’d never deny delicious, deep fried balls of risotto dipped in smooth, decedent pesto- but you’re working right now and it’s not fair. 

“Well, you can tell him” you lifted the dish, offering it back. “I have a system. And I’m unsure how he realized that I’m coming here, tonight, but I dislike cheaters. And he should know if he’s read my blog- I don’t muck up my palate with grease before I try the main course.” The plate was so close to him now it was nearly digging into his chest.

He nodded quickly, taking the plate without another word and briskly walking back to the kitchen. You sat back in your seat with a slight scoff. 

He thinks he can win you over just like that? How did he even know you would be here?

You picked up your pencil once again, adding a note. 

For the chef; Arancini smelt delicious. Didn’t order it, so I didn’t taste it . Presentation wise; 7/10. Pesto looked like it was spooned in the dish a tad bit messy to me. 

You smiled to yourself, you knew he’d read the final review once it was posted. And since he wanted to be a little cheater and get a overall higher score since he was trying to weasel you into trying extra dishes- you’d kick his ego down a few extra pegs for fun. 

You sat, nursing your drink, adding extra little notes here and there, as well as editing a blog post about Ghost Kitchens you’d been working on and how they were ruining the mobile order industry on the side. You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly. 

Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh. 

“Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table. 

You swore even in the ambient lighting, his cheeks flushed slightly. “You- uh- you declined, my Arancini. Why?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back, the position making his already toned and tattooed arms appear more muscular. It makes him all the more impressive he has all these tattoos and still made it in this industry. I can only imagine the shit he got for them. 

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. “Because that’s Cheating. Mr.Berzatto. I’d assume you know my work well. Considering you know what I look like, so- why try to cheat? You know how I feel about appetizers. It’s a scapegoat.” You shrugged, locking your iPad when you realized he’d been peeking at the notes. 

“Messy” his eyes narrow. He scoffs a bit, alluding to the note you’d written a short while prior “Messy?” He asks again, you laugh a bit.  

“Mmhmm! Oh, was it you chef? Wow…I mean- now that I think about it” you shook your head, now just messing with him since you see how much he was dying to impress you. “I could’ve sworn- the pesto it just..was too loose. Overblended maybe? That’s why it was impossible to plate without making a mess.” You shrugged, cutting up your fish carefully and spreading the vegetables with your knife to observe the cohesivity of the cuts. 

He scoffs, “too- too loose?! W-y’know what. No. No. It- you’re gonna try it.” He demands and you look up at him, nearly laughing at the seriousness of his tone. 

“That depends. Bring me a pesto worth trying and I’ll think about it. Now” you wave him off casually “I can’t work with the chef over my shoulder. So- Shoo chef don’t bother me” you teased and he shook his head. 

“Game on.” He muttered, heading back to the kitchen.  

You smiled to yourself, the Arancini absolutely isn’t going into the review. But you’ll humor his ego by trying it.

You cut the fish thoroughly, checking the texture and the evenness of the seasonings slathered on the skin, writing little notes as you go along. The cuts of the vegetables were pristine. Nearly perfect. The only misshapen pieces were clearly cosmetic defects of the vegetable. The chef that cut these was immaculate with a knife. 

When you took your first bite, you nearly moaned. The fish was buttery, the skin was crispy, slightly spicy, tangy, the flesh melted in your mouth. The risotto was so cheesy and buttery and wonderful. You could eat this meal every night for the rest of your life and never get sick of it. It was the best Sea bass you’d ever tasted. 

You opened your iPad again, jotting down notes about the flavors, the mouth feel, all the usual points you hit in your review. 

This meal is a 9.2 out of 10. 

You write at the bottom. Very fair score, you never had rated something as a 10. Something being a 10 would be- you don’t even know what it would be. But it would be what the score says, perfection. And while this dish was wonderful, and very very good- it was not perfect. At least to your heavily trained palate. 

You finished what you wanted out of the meal, pushing the plate to the side and not soon after, Carmen was back at your table. He placed the plate in front of you, 3 perfectly circular Arancini discs were placed equal distance on the plate, and truly beautiful pesto, sat in the dish alongside it. It frankly was immaculately plated. 

“Unbroken pesto. Sorry again, about the last one.” He said, watching you carefully. You hum as you grab your fork, splitting one of the discs and digging out some of the risotto. 

“Could be firmer.” You said, eyes flicking to his. He nods, clearing his throat a bit. 

“It’s not- uh- it’s” 

“Fresh” you finished for him, raising your brows and he nods. “So- since you’re frying it. You cook it for about..a minute- maybe forty seconds less than you usually would.” You said, daintily taking the bite off your fork. 

“Heard..” he nodded, waiting for your reaction. You hummed a bit. 

“Great balance of parm and butter though. I’ll give you that. Neither overpowers the other, that’s hard to do considering the notes” you added, cutting up the crust and tasting it. 

“Mm-“ you scrunch your nose and his face visibly drops. “Mm-mm…no- not peanut oil…why would you do that? It totally overpowers the breadcrumb with this like…cheapy taste. I’d say it would be way better if you fried it in sunflower oil” you added, digging out more of the risotto and dipping it in the pesto before having a bite and humming. 

“This though” you point at the little dish of green sauce with your fork. “This is great.” You add and he nods. 

“Ok-yeah…ok…” he nods, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Thank y’for trying it.” He said and you nod. 

“I’ll be back for a fair assessment. I think I’ll pass on the cannoli tonight, and just get the bill. Thank you” you slipped your pencil in the case before putting your iPad in your bag and holding your hands on the table in front of you. 

“Y-y’re coming back” he said, sounding slightly surprised. 

You shrugged “well- you clearly want a full review based on your behavior tonight, Chef. So I’ll humor you. I won’t tell you when of course, so just pray that it’s a day like today-“ you paused, looking around. “Where things seem to be running…alright.” You sat back in your chair casually with a small smile. 

“I look forward to your review.” He gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen. 

It was 3 weeks before you’d decided to return back to The Bear spring had quickly turned to early summer, and you thought you’d given enough time for your little conversation with the head chef to slip his mind. 

It was 9:20, 40 minutes before closing. You did promise to come back at a random time, and no time is more random then a Friday night less than an hour before the kitchen closed. 

You pulled open the door, stepped in and headed up to the host stand where the same man that originally offered you the Arancini stood. “The picky critic returns.” He said, tapping his pen against the reservation book absentmindedly. 

“She does” you smiled a bit. 

“Well lucky f’you cousin said you get a table any time, right this way” he leads you to a booth near the back, where you had a perfect view of the restaurant. Much cozier then before, right next to the doors of the kitchen where you could hear the back of house crew buzzing about. 

“Same cocktail as last time?” He asked and you raised your brows in slight surprise as you sit. 

“No waitress?” You asked, getting comfortable and setting your iPad down next to the empty plate. 

“She’ll be over, just figured a friendly offer couldn’t hurt” he said with a small smirk. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “House cocktail please, and thank you. But don’t count on kindness boosting your hospitality score-“ you stop, realizing he never gave you his name. 

“Richie” he said, sticking his hand out to shake. 

“Richie.” You repeat, giving him your firm professional shake. 

“House cocktail comin’ up” he said and headed back to the bar. You mulled over the menu, lemon chicken picatta, that sounded like a perfect dish to judge this time around. 

A few minutes later, Richie returns, setting the glass down in front of you. “Waitress should be by momentarily, enjoy your meal” he said, heading back to the host stand. 

A bit after the waitress came to take your order, the restaurant had begun to die down. You were going to be the last person served tonight it looked like, since in 5 minutes they would stop seating people. 

You added additional notes to your section about the cocktail, getting a better photo of it for your blog when you hear a bit of commotion up front.

You look up, to see a woman with curled brown hair in navy blue scrubs, her hands on her hips, talking with Richie with a frustrated look. There were tears in her eyes, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation. 

“Richie, please let me see him- he- he hasn’t said anything and I…I just need to hear him say it to my face. Please!” She begs, tears were streaming down her face now. 

Richie looks around nervously, tugging her to the side so they weren’t standing right in front of the host stand. You lean over just a bit- not so much it would be noticeable, but enough your nosy ears could continue to pick up what was being said.

“Claire. You shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry- he told me-he said that..that you can’t come here anymore. It’s too much and he will apologize when he can find the words. But he can’t. So please before he sees you. Leave” he said softly, attempting to soothingly rub her arm and she jerks away like his touch burned her skin. 

“Fuck you, Richie. Get him. Now. I’m not working on his time anymore. This is my time now. I’ve waited around enough for him. I’m done waiting. Either get him yourself? Or I swear to god I’ll go in that kitchen and embarrass the fucking shit out of him” she hissed. 

Your eyebrows raised, shit. Whoever fucked her over should at least be warned. 

He snorts, clearly amused before stepping back and raising his arms in defeat. “Have at it ClaireBear.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think he’s gonna take kindly to you startin’ w’him in his house? Be my guest.” He shrugged, going back over to the host stand. 

And then it clicked. She’s here for Carmen.  

She laughed dryly, sarcastically, like a woman who’d had it. “You think I’m scared? Richie? You think I’m scared of little Carmy who couldn’t even check out a library book by himself? mm?” She goads him, arms crossed, chest heaving with rage. 

His head snaps back to look at her, brows raised in shock. “Kid- I really think you should go calm the fuck down, because Y’re not gonna like the way that this conversation ends w’him- at all.” 

And with that, she shoves open the kitchen door. You couldn’t just sit there and not watch- this was the juiciest drama you’d ever been privy to in person, and this means he’s single. You slightly curse yourself for being so giddy that this means the sexy chef would likely be on the market. 

Your foot catches the door before it closes, leaning against the frame. She storms in, eyes frantically darting over the kitchen. 

“Carmen.” She barks, the entire kitchen stops moving and looks at her, as if they were in shock and awe someone would ever raise their voice to him in such a way. 

He rounds the corner, holding a pan of focaccia dough that he nearly drops at the sight of her. He blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut as if she’d disappear when he opened them again. 

“The fuck are you-“ his eyes meet yours, his face going pale quickly, he looked white as a sheet. “Leave.” He orders her, slamming the dough down on the counter. 

“Leave?!” She laughs coldly, “you’re gonna tell me to leave?! You’re a fucking pussy Carmen. A pussy. Y’know- it was charity giving you a chance. Pity work.” She spits and you blink a few times, taken aback by such harsh words. 

Is she serious? She thinks anyone could believe dating a super hot, ripped, talented, chef prodigy - that was charity work in any sense of the word?

He scoffs, “Charity?” He chuckled dryly. “Claire- you begged me to fuckin’ be with you! You-you-y’re a fuckin gnat! Claire! You- all you do is-is fuckin’-” he runs his hand through his hair, his chest heaving in anger, “You dont know me, Claire! Alright? There- And I-I-I don’t want you i’m-i’m sorry-” 

She laughed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “You-” she whispered, her chest shaking with a sob. “You- fucker- I- I gave you a chance…” she whispered and gripped her wrist sadly. “I- I was there for you, Carmen- when no one else could fucking stand you.” she croaked.

“And I never asked for you too- please- just…leave me alone-” he shook his head. “Leave. Please…just-pretend we never happened, it was a mistake, Claire.” he breathed, clearly utterly defeated, and It sounded like he’d told this girl these same words multiple times. 

“M-Mikey would be sick- Carmy, he’d- he’d hate who you’ve become…” she said meekly, and with that- something behind his eyes snapped.

“Claire I’m not DOING THIS I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ RESTAURANT. WERE OVER. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING CLAIRE!” He roars, the veins in his neck popping out, angrily and aggressively pointing to the door. “OUT. get the fuck out. G-get out, b-before I-I-I fuckin- holy fuck” he finds his composure once more, even though his breath was still ragged from his outburst, flicking his hand next to him his entire body trembling with panic. 

She looks to her left and right, she’s not that- 

Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong, when you see she was stupid enough to grab a pan off the stove to whip at him. 

“Aht!” the spanish woman standing a few paces to the right said, quickly grabbing the arm with the pan and twisting it behind her back. “Drop it.” she hissed. 

Carmen looks between the two of them, utterly in shock. “Y-y’were gonna hit me?” He asked her, face twisting in rage. “Fuck you. Fuck you Claire.” He seethed, taking the pan from his employees grasp and tossing it in the sink with a loud clatter. 

“Get the fuck out” you told her, grabbing her from the handle of the woman who’d stopped the assault, shoving her towards the kitchen door and into the front of the restaurant. “Y’re a fuckin crazy bitch.” You laughed dryly, giving her a hard shove for good measure. 

“Oh and who are you” she straightened herself out, pushing her bag up on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Glad to see that Carmy still needs someone to protect him. I’ll gladly give up that spot.” she said, causing you to laugh. 

“Oh my god- you are pathetic. He just spelt it clear as day sweetheart- you are over. O-v-e-r. He doesn’t want you babe! And no, he doesn’t need my protection- I was enjoying dinner and apparently a show until you went batshit bitch.” You snip, plopping back down at your booth. 

She scoffed “he doesn’t want anyone. The only thing he wants - is to remain miserable. Good fucking luck, whoever you are.” She said before stomping out. 

“Yo she was really gonna throw somethin?” Richie asked as he walked over. Thankfully, it was just you, him, and the bartender in the front of the restaurant.

You nod “thankfully she didn’t realize I was there- Carmen would have had a nasty burn, and a concussion.” You said, taking a large sip of your drink. 

Carmen comes out, eyes meeting yours immediately. “Fuck- I- don’t worry y’re meal is comped and don’t…don’t worry about a review, i’m sorry- I-I guess it wasn't in the cards f’r us to be featured on y’r blog... I’m really so sorry… Shes- ah..” he rubs his arm nervously, trying to find the words. 

“A woman scorned” You teased, and he snorts a laugh, nodding a bit.

“Hell hath no fury, right?” He joked, sighing a bit. “It’s uh…it’s my fault I guess…I uh- I should’ve dealt with that…I've been putting it off” he said and you nod a bit.

“You off the clock?” you looked at your phone for the time, 10:07. 

“Shit- fuck- sorry- I’m so sorry- give me like- I was making y’r food…and then-” you shook your head, stopping him.

“No- No…I was uh-Asking to see if you maybe wanted to..have a drink with me? Not-not like…professionally…” you shrugged, stirring your half full cocktail with the bar straw that floated in it. 

“Sure- uh…sure- I’d like that lemme..lemme go change, i’ll be right out” he nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

[soombee]

ଳ⋆｡˚𖦹 caught in the current of you — ch 10 , what are we, kim donghyun?!

warning ! mentions of suicide (sarcasm) and alcohol consumption

word count , um a lot

sorry for the long wait😢😢 i was sick all thanksgiving break 🙂🙂🙂 also lowkey by niki reference at the end heh

the message sat in your head for too long, your thumb hovering over the send button. before you could even sigh, your hands typed it out, and hit send—which would have taken more than a week for you to send if you hadn't been unstable LOL

you; hi leehan, sorry for not responding to um.. the whole thing sooner but i think i'm ready now(?) let’s talk

his reply came almost instantly-like the only thing he was made for in life was to service you

leehan; Oh of course, pretty. I've been thinking about it too Imao. I’ll be there in 10

the nickname "pretty" twisted something in your chest. it was so casually affectionate, but now it carried the weight of everything unresolved

true to his word, his car pulled up in front of your house minutes later. you hesitated as you walked toward the passenger door, wondering if this was a mistake. but when you opened the door and slid into the seat, the familiar scent of his cologne—sweet and warm—made your heart clench,

“hi,” he said softly, glancing at you as you buckled your seatbelt

“hi,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended

he waited a beat before putting the car in drive, “where do you want to go?”

“anywhere,” you said, avoiding his gaze, “just..somewhere we can talk”

he nodded, and the two of you drove in silence, the hum of the engine and the quiet music being the only noise between you. he took you to a quiet spot by the river, a place you’d both gone to in happier times; the familiarity of it felt like a cruel joke

when he parked, neither of you moved—it all felt so awkward. he turned off the engine and the silence grew heavier

“so” he started, his voice hesitant, “what did you want to talk about?”

you stared out the window, your heart racing, “us.”

his grip on the steering wheel visibly tightening, letting out a shaky breath, “i figured..”

“i need to know, leehan,” you said, finally looking at him, “why did you push me away? why couldn’t you just let me in?”

he turned to you, his expression conflicted, “i didn’t mean to.. i—i thought I was protecting you. from me, from my mess. i thought if I kept my distance, you’d be better off”

you scoffed, the frustration bubbling u, “protecting me? by shutting me out? by making me feel like I wasn’t enough?”

“that’s not what i wanted,” he said quickly, his voice breaking, “i swear, yn. i never wanted to hurt you. i just—”

the pure oblivion in his words only made the ache in your chest even worse

“oh my GOD, leehan. you couldn’t even trust me? you couldn’t even count on me not to judge you for being so overzealous,” your voice trembling, “you didn’t even try. you made me feel like I was screaming into the void.. like—like i was standing on your street in the cold, waiting for you to just unfold your arms and let me into your warmth.”

his eyes widened, the weight of your words hitting him—finally realizing what you really went through to get here.

“you say you care,” you continued, tears brimming, “but caring isnt enough, donghyun. if you wanted me—really wanted me—you’d show me. you’d stop hiding behind your walls and show up. show me the very thing you’ve been shutting everyone else from seeing.”

his head dropped, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white,

“i know,” he whispered. “i know i messed up. i know i let my own fears ruin what we had and I hate myself for it, yn. everyday, i hate myself for it” he wiped away your tears, “every passing moment i spend without you is the only thing i think of ever since we stopped talking.”

the vulnerability in his voice and how he’s still caring for you even tho there were tears rolling down his face cracked something in you, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt

“i forgive you,” you said after a long silence, your voice quiet but firm, “but forgiveness doesnt mean i’m ready to forget. i need time. i need space to figure out what i want”

he sighed, long and heavy, “does this mean that whatever we have won’t go any further than this?”

you shook your head, your throat tight, “i—i dont know. i just.. we cant keep doing this. let’s… let’s not talk for a while. at least not about anything other than the project.”

he nodded slowly, swallowing hard, “okay, if that’s what you need.”

you reached for his hand, “leehan… i dont hate you. i could never hate you. but you need to figure out what you want too.”

the ride back was silent, the weight of the conversation still settling between you. when he pulled up in front of your house, you paused before getting out, pausing to look at him one last time,

“i don’t want you to wait for me but, for all that this is worth, i know we can be better for each other in time.”

his lips parted but no words came out. instead, he just nodded, keeping his gaze steady

you stepped out of the car, closing the door softly behind you. as you walked up to your door, you didn’t look back though you could feel his eyes lingering on your back, you can tell that he misses you already.

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taglist (open) ! @saintriots @yourmyst4r @sftsohee @httpenhoon @alisonyus @astrae4 @lynnimini @enhacolor @mari3s @voikiraz @yveol @sol3chu @saritahwang @kazemiya @kamfaye @meoriapeuda99 @1starqi @dylanobr1ens

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Hi. Thank you for the last itmf, the recommendations made me cry. Again thanks to the hard work of the mods.

Right now for itmf I'm looking for fanfics where Wei Wuxian says "fuck it" to the cultivation world and everyone think "Good riddance" just to end up regretting. Extra points if LWJ goes with him or call out everyone. Similar to "The Line Between Good and Evil" by Dandelion_sama ( Really good fic) @anime-trash-parody

you've heard that melody before by Stratisphyre (M, 65k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, POV Multiple, Multiple Canon Character Deaths, Depictions of depression, Light Dom/sub, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics) maybe? people don't say "good riddance" b/c he cast some sort of blanket amnesia spell, but they SURE DO REGRET IT

wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Canonical Accidental Baby Acquisition, Families of Choice, References to Depression, Happy Ending, I Swear To God I’m Giving Them A Happy Ending, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Well Except WN But He Was Already Dead So, Fix-It of Sorts) he does go back

The Line Between Good and Evil by Dandelion_sama (G, 34k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, What-If, Rebirth, Time Travel, kind of Mass Reborn, reverse uno, Canon-Typical Violence, WIP)

The Best I Can by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 26k, LJY & WWX, wangxian, WWX talking to his donkey, Canon Divergence, Light Angst, Drama, Recovery, Coming of Age, Secret Identity Fail, Friendship, Rogue Cultivator LWJ, Road Trips, POV Multiple, Happy Ending)

focal, filler, and line by bosbie (T, 26k, wangxian, canon divergence, flower shop au, fluff, hurt/comfort, pining, falling in love, WWX is not recognized in Dafan mountain, slice of life, WIP)

🔒 My Reason To Live by HeloSoph (Not rated, 3k, LSZ & WWX, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mound, Child LSZ, He's actually a Wei..., Suicidal Thoughts, Not Cultivation world friendly, Not JC friendly, not NMJ friendly, not LQR friendly, not JGS friendly, YLLZ WWX, WWX Deserves Better, And this time... he knows this..., A-Yuan is the best boy, Parent-Child Relationship, Parent WWX, BAMF WWX, wwx and a-yuan leave the BM..., WWX Leaves The Cultivation World, and they set on a journey to find a new home...)

And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Screw the Cultivation world tbh, The Lan precepts deserves better, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, domestic life, Social justice boyfriends wangxian, Happy Ending)

Home isn’t Where the Heart is. by Hauntcats (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian)

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not Jiāng Chéng Friendly)

( 🔒 but I'm not in charge of sorrow (so please don't ask me when) by Tavina (M, 75k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & OCs, LXC & NHS, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Passive Suicidal Ideation, Found Family, Unconventional Families, Families of Choice, Post-Canon, Post-Guānyīn Temple Scene, What’s a Reconciliation Anyway?, Internalized Acephobia, Depression, Mental Health Issues, An Absolute Boatload of Nie OCs, Background characters and relationships, Intergenerational Trauma, the Horrific Persistence of Memory, NHNS Needs a Hug, NMJ is dead even when he's alive, JGY is also dead but like you get the impression he used to be alive, Sometimes 'just walk out' IS the answer, Non-Chronological, lots of people are dead in this fic and this fic is about why it's not okay) If you’d like another character doing the same thing, ie fucking off and leaving the cultivator world )

~*~

2. Helloooo, can I have for the next ITMF some fics with something like ghost WWX? I know there's a tag but I've seen some fics where the authors don't tag them with that, and some where he's not actually a ghost (more like a memory or apparition?) that shows up randomly in the cultivation world. Both work for me (just no JC bashing please!). Thank you! @jiangclaritybell

🧡 Ghosts Shouldn’t by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

asymptotic by chinxe (T, 26k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Pining, for 20+ years as per the course with lwj)

🔒 The Time Traveler's Soul by mondengel (Not rated, 2k, wangxian, time travel, podfic by flamingwell)

🔒 scatter and sunder by silversshadow (T, 15k, XuanLi, WangXian, Temporary Character Death, Canon Divergence)

Teatime with the Dead by Winxhelina (T, 6k, wangxian, Ghost WWX, Love Confessions, Kisses, Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst,bGhost City)

one good thing by Yuu_chi (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ghost WWX, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, I swear there really is a happy ending, And an alarming amount of rabbits, [Podfic] One Good Thing by jellyfishfire)

~*~

3.

Are there any fics which feel like this?

Or where wwx feels like this?

Thankyou very much

Also all these arts are by Ibuki Satsuki @constellationdks

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4. Hi! I’m looking for fics where wwx cries in the middle of the night and lwj comforts him and vise versa maybe they woke the other up bc they were sobbing. Wangxian hugs and having emotional intimacy each other. Thank you!

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort) here's a GREAT fic that's all about that

hold me close by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (E, 13k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex) If I may plug my own fic, there's a scene where lwj wakes from a nightmare and cries and wwx comforts him

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5. inmf lwj whump. the heavier, the better. happy ending appreciated, but not necessary. Physical whump is nice, but ain't picky. Thank you for the hard work! @jawla-mukhi

Stained With Blood and Tears by FaramirsBlessing (G, 63k, wangxian, LXC/JC, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst w Happy Ending, Hurt LWJ, Doctors & Physicians, Chinese medicine, Medical Procedures, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Pet Names, People cry, Bedside Vigils, nobody dies tho, Sad WWX, Night Hunts, Post-Canon, JC is a good brother, Poisoning, Forehead Kisses, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, WWX loves his husband's hair okay, Cuddling & Snuggling, Delirium, mix of novel and series, so much hand holding, Chaste Kisses, resentful energy, the juniors ship all the adults, they are the humor in this tbh, PTSD, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

New Perspective Series by mrcformoso (T, 35k, WangXian, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Fatherhood, Regrets, Flashbacks, POV LWJ, LWJ-centric, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī Needs a Hug, Character Development, Dead WWX, Introspection, LWJ is Bad at Feelings, Character Study, Regretful, LWJ Breaking Toxic Cycles, Canon Compliant, LWJ in Seclusion, Post-LWJ in Seclusion, Child LSZ)

a buried and burning flame by otherhippo (hippopotamus) (T, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda dark?, Angst with a Happy Ending, does it count as bedsharing if theres...no bed, Imprisonment, Hurt/Comfort)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx's biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

🔒the map of days by everythingispoetry (M, 20k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death)

Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture) LWJ is kept as a sex slave by the Wen sect

hold me close by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (E, 13k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex) LWJ struggles with WWX's death, even after WWX's return

Lan Yuan's War by BurningTea (G, 196k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Angst, Sick LWJ, Hurt/comfort, Eventual Happy Ending)

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6. itmf fic where wwx cheats on lwj

~*~

7. itmf fics about granny wen! any fics about granny wen being a bamf, or being the (grand)parental all of our favs desperately need. looking for feel good fics. some angst is okay, but a happy ending is a must. ty all!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not Jiāng Chéng Friendly) Not sure if this counts as it's not really about Granny Wen, but she does become sect leader of the Wen Remnants in this & mingles with other sect leaders at a discussion conference

Granny Knows Best by The_Snarkivist (T, 5k, OYZZ/WN, JL/LSZ, Getting Together, Fluff, Accidental Elderly Acquisition, More OYZZ content in 2022 agenda, WN Centric, Let WN Be Happy Agenda, Happy Ending, fast burn, Granny does know best, POV WN, Post-Canon)

~*~

8. hii how are you? I'm in the mood for a fic where either wwx or lwj go incoherent (sexually maybe) and the other takes care of them.

thank u sm for ur work and time!! @mercurygirlwt28

To Know, To Be Known Series by cqlorphan (E, 38k, WangXian, PWP, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Cock Warming, Multiple Orgasms, Marathon Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Porn with Feelings, Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, sex tears, gratuitous use of names, Begging, this is actually...really soft, Kink Discovery, Post-Canon, Switch WangXian, Cock rings, Rimming, Edging) Lwj definitely goes incoherent a few times!

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9. Please recommend some wangxian mafia au/ dark wangji modern au fics . Moreover Mafia wangji is so hott🥵 @itzweiwuxian

🔒🧡 Rule Number One: Never get attached. by KizuKatana (E, 130k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O, Criminal underworld AU, Fluff and angst, Crime boss LWJ, Rouge criminal genius WWX, Explicit Sex)

to give a snapdragon by suton (T, 1k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mob, Dark LWJ, Minor ZhuiYi, Ambiguous/Open Ending) Short but sweet!

luminous by azuresummer (E, 50k, WIP, WangXian, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant LWJ, Submissive WWX, Modern AU, Merpeople, A/B/O Dynamics, Dark LXC, Dark LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ, Crime Boss LWJ, Omega WWX, Siren WWX, Merperson WWX, Hurt WWX, WWX Whump, Precious WWX, Spoiled WWX, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Nesting, Scenting, Power Imbalance, Obsession, Kidnapping, Organized Crime, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Excessive Amounts of Tenderness, Pining LWJ, Dark WangXian)

We do have a Mafia / Cop / Detective / Thief comp if you haven't checked it out yet ^^

how to be a heartbreaker by sweetlolixo (E, 105k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sugar Daddy LWJ, Sugar Baby WWX, Dark WWX, Dark LWJ, Pining LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Crossdressing WWX, Seductress WWX, Eventual Happy Ending, Dirty Talking LWJ, They Do Fall In Love and there’s Fluff, Dark!Wangxian, Power Couple, Off the Charts Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Daddy Kink, degradation kink) lwj darker in the 2nd part of this, this one is real good too. 2nd part has ambiguous ending.

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10. Hello! I'd like to make a request for the next fic finder- it's not necessarily itmf, more like "does it exist?" Crossover with tgcf, but focusing on a Guzi and A-Yuan friendship? I've only ever seen 2 artworks (both from the same artist). And I've tried searching, but no luck, does anyone else know if such a story exists? Or is too niche a request? Thank you ❤ @theladypeartree

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11. Hello! I'm in the mood of a fic where Wwx feels hurt/insecure about Lwj not burning paper money to him while he was dead. @annebaneriddle

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12. Hi! For ITMF, could you recommend me a fic where WWX collect children and become their father figure/mentor? I want MXY is one of those children if you can but other is fine too. I prefer if its not modern AU, except if it was modern with cultivation/magic. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)

Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, [PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

🔒and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They're Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

~*~

13. I'm looking for niche au fics! The more obscure the better: I've previously encountered figure skating, amish, cave diving, and surgeon aus. No WIPS please :) @mostergreentea

Into the Depths by elytchaeke (T, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, Cave Diving, Slow Burn, not that slow, Speluncaphobia, Claustrophobia, Descriptions of Corpses, Drowning, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Sharing Body Heat, The Inherent Eroticism of Wordless Communication, Corpse Handling) cave diving fic that op is talking about

The Amish AU by bufflehead, goofs_n_gaffs (T, 13k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, but they're amish, Crack, Not taken seriously, Slurpee Acquisition, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigan, rated h for hector, pitchforks, References to Shakespeare, Cultural Appropriation, of the amish, Fishing, Buggies, Violence Against Chickens, Bad Cooking, Goose Metaphors, First Kiss, Party Host JW) amish fic that op is talking about

Always Be Closing by betts (E, 32k, WangXian, QingXian, Modern AU, America, Office, Kid Fic, Drunken Kissing, Semi-Public Sex, Sexting, Divorce, Falling In Love, Bank Robbery, Secret Relationship, Co-workers) commercial lending au

🧡 Faire thee well by Scrippio (T, 77k, WangXian , ChengQing, XuanLi, 3Zun, Modern AU, Renaissance Faire, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Slow Burn)

[Podcast] New Year, New Pod! jellyfishfire, kisahawklin (G, 2.5-3 hrs, Modern AU, Streaming, MP3, Cold Read, Trailers, Recommendations) @kisahawklin and @jellyfishfire did a great podcast recommending various fic and podfic where MDZS cast have unusual (for them) occupations. I bet a bunch of these would scratch your itch!

there is no limited dimensions by Stratisphyre (M, 122k, WangXian, NieLan, MianQing, WN/Other(s), Star Trek Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Assumed Character Death, Minor Character Death Tags on Each Chapter, references to non-con, references to canonical slavery, (The Orion Syndicate is just really bad okay?), bizarre space mpreg, Implied Future Pairings, Implied NHS/Others, POV Multiple, Accidental Child Acquisition, Found Family, Implied Future 3zun, Genius WWX) Star Trek AU (you don't need any familiarity with star trek to read)

Waiting for Spring Series by thievinghippo (E, 225k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sports, Baseball, Switch WangXian, mentions of past emotional abuse, slight angst, Happy Ending, Pining, Masturbation)

Creatures of Emotion by thievinghippo (E, 33k, WangXian, Modern AU, Rimming, Phone Sex, Blow Jobs, Office Sex)

light a lantern (and guide me home) by xuanxuanwo (ostentatiouslyrealistic) (T, 63k, WangXian, Moth WWX, Witch LWJ, Tea, Plants, Mountains, Loneliness, Curses, Curse Breaking, Melancholy, Friendship, Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Thunderstorms, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death, Memories) mothxian/witchji!

Wei Wuxian Makes a Wish series by natcat5 (M, 119k, wangxian, major character death, underage, madoka magica au, modern w/ magic, time travel, high school au, body horror, self-harm, angst w/ bittersweet ending, time loop, mental instability, suicidal thoughts) incredible madoka magical au

🧡🔒 Night of the Living History (an edutainment special!) by Aerlalaith (T, 51k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Workplace Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Museums, living history, Some Plot, Slice of Life, Injury, a minor haunting) living cultivation history museum au

🧡 A Knight in Shining Armor by thievinghippo (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, Fluff, Meet-Cute)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Covered in Bees by ScarlettStorm (T, 8k, WangXian,Modern AU, Beekeeping AU, Meet-Cute, Comedy, Fluff, Bees)

🔒some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

Wei Wuxian’s Home for Lost Creatures by Stratisphyre (G, 22k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Fusion, Fluff, Single Dad LWJ, Near Drowning, injured animals, First Meetings, Falling In Love)

as if you were a mythical thing by daltoneering (M, 17k, WangXian, Historical, Science Fiction, Magical Realism, Steampunk, Getting Together, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, WWX Master of Clocks)

🧡 Yiling Salon: Hair, Nails and Piercing by TriviasFolly (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, hairstylist AU, WWX owns a salon, Hairstylist WWX, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Experimental Style)

C’est toi pour moi by eatmyass (T, 49k, WangXian, Jab We Met AU, Modern AU, Strangers to Lovers, travelling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Fluff, Slow Burn, Pining, POV LWJ, Endgame WangXian, All Is Not As It Seems, No cheating whatsoever!, Paris: the city of hate)

🧡 don’t threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Great British bake off AU, Script format, Fluff and Crack, Reality TV, Social media)

Welcome to the Great Gusu Bake Off! series by BlackWiresOnHerHead (G, 59k, Modern, College/University AU, The Great British Bake Off AU, Humor)

💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery)

always on my mind series by sami (E, 41k, wangxian, LWJ/Others, LWJ & JYL, Modern, references to past LWJ/others, references to past WWX/WQ, Family, Sexual Tension set in the early 90s, Grief, Erratic Gay Superstar Musician LWJ, life is what happens in the in between, Fluff, Children, Pregnancy, not mpreg, Parenthood, Music Videos, LWJ's Gremlin Tendencies, WWX's Gremlin Tendencies, Drag, Daytime Television, Bitches Get Things Done, fictional daytime talk shows, Q&A, Slice of Life, Awards shows, any resemblance between OCs and real people living or dead are coincidental I swear, Communication, and how LWJ is bad at it, LWJ's weirdly wholesome kink inclinations, LWJ's aggressively artistic musical career, References to Major Character Death, Celebrity stuff, Superstar musican LWJ)

🧡 I Don't Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, wangxian, Modern, Reality Show, Idols, Celebrity, Social Media, Epistolary, Romance, Fluff, Footnotes, Kissing, Poetry, Podfic Available)

You're Home, I'm Home by Pip (Moirail) (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ice Skating, Olympics, Falling In Love, Anal Sex, Rimming, Unsafe Sex, Creampie, Ice skater LWJ, Hockey player WWX)

down by the water by astrolesbian (E, 60k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Surfer LWJ, Surfer WWX, Loneliness, complicated family relationships, mention of drowning, but no actual drowning is described, fluff and smut and angst, Reconciliation)

~*~

14. itmf fics set during the cloud recesses study arc, with wwx and lwj exploring their sexualities with each other... basically having sex which is underage, but wholeheartedly consensual and wholesome. just the vibes being them excited cause they really like each other but its their first times, so they want to be careful. bottom!lwj preferred, or with neither topping or bottoming.

~*~

15. itmf lwj being held hostage or used as blackmail

Alter by Solmae (E, 162k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Gang Rape, Forced Prostitution, PTSD, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture) (link in #5) Alter works for this request as well since LWJ is being held prisoner to ensure LXC's good behaviour

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire)

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16. Hey, here after a long time. Hope you guys are doing well.

ITMF everyone simping over Wei WuXian. Something like Touch That Body, (It's Not Mine) @tinyfoxpeach

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17. heyy there thanks for your hard work! do you have any fic recs on wangixan post canon married life that's basically fluff? or any fics that wwx is injured or sick and lwj gets worried, protective and looks after him? thanks in advance! :) @aquiver-heart

small mercies by mellowflicker (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon Fix-It, as in wwx doesn't walk away but stays to take care of his zhanzhan, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Getting Together, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Switching)

the lives of birds by bleuett (E, 15k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Fluff and Humor, Family Feels, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Rimming, Blow Jobs)

As You Like It by cosmicmilktea (T, 8k, WangXian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Tea, Finding out preferences, Childhood Memories, Yunmeng trio feels, child rearing, Post-Canon, Very Very Light Angst, Fluff) Such lovely married wangxian. Wwx researching and helping lwj learn what is to his taste (literally, as in tea and food)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[daydream-cement]

so i was thinking about new years and loved the idea of larissa and r being each others new years kiss.

like the two of them are in an urgent meeting discussing something that had gone down with some students before christmas break, them needing to get some reports done and filed. them sipping some champagne, just for festivities. the meeting going on so long they lost track of time, only a few minutes left before midnight, realizing this one of them takes the leap and asks the other to be their new years kiss, and linger on each other’s lips longer than they should

New Years Kiss

Larissa Weems x Reader

“I can’t believe their end of semester prank was to reshuffle the entire filing room…” You sit back against the wall and lean you head back, banging your head gently against the wall to make your frustration known. Scattered around you were the files of the hundreds of Nevermore students, all needed to be put back into place.

Larissa Weems sat next to you, resorting through her file of papers, obviously frustrated with the task at hand. Students had been sent home a week ago and today, December 31st, you informed your boss that the entire hardcopy filing system has been shuffled about. Now all of student and staff information was in the correct place. Both of you had to cancel New Years plans to sit in a small back room of Nevermore Academy until it was fixed.

You kept sorting. Every once in a while you would exchange sheets of paper. You were reorganizing students and she started with reorganizing staff.

Larissa checked her watch, “I’ll be right back.”

You watched her get up and leave, but you turn your head back down to the filing job at hand. You saw Larissa Weems as an incredibly beautiful woman, but you had never expected more than friendship from her. When she returned, she was carrying a small bottle of champagne and paper cups.

“It’s almost midnight. We have officially been here for 8 hours.” She handed you a paper cup, and opened the champagne over a small garbage can in case it overflowed, “I kept this little guy in my desk for emergencies.”

Truthfully, you had only been working a couple of those hours. When you were together, sometimes your conversations would veer off into philosophy, politics, or educational dilemmas.

“We should have started drinking when we started.” You stated, holding your cup still for her to fill yours and then her own. You held your cup up to her as she stood above you, “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She tapped her cup against yours, throwing hers back like a shot. Larissa took a seat back down by you. For the next few minutes, you took turns refilling each others cups and drinking.

11:58

“No New Years kiss this year.” You lean into Larissa’s shoulder, enjoying the light tingle in your skull from the alcohol.

“Who said no New Years kiss? You can kiss me.” Larissa questioned and stated, making your eyes widen. You wouldn’t object to kissing her, this was just unexpected.

11:59

“Okay. I mean, yeah sure. I-“ You were a little nervous at your automatic response, you didn’t want to seem overzealous, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to kiss her.

Larissa glanced down at her phone, your eyes glanced down at the time, 11:59. Do you kiss now or-?

She leaned in first. You wondered how she was so fearless or were you just too fearful? You met her halfway, pressing your lips to hers.

You hadn’t been this close to her before. She smelled so nice. Larissa brought up a hand to your cheek. Her hands were soft too. You reached a hand out, grasping at the fabric of her jacket to keep her close.

Her mouth opened a little, you felt her tongue graze your bottom lip. You deepen the kiss a little more. It was when Larissa placed a hand on your leg that you both part slowly.

12:02

She glances down at her phone again. Its 12:02. Had your kiss really been that long? Larissa picks back up the champagne bottle, drinking some before handing the bottle to you, giving you what was left.

Larissa’s face was flush. She was embarrassed by how she behaved during your kiss. You saw the redness in her face as she pretended to busy herself with the paperwork once more.

“Thank you for that…” You say, trying not to embarrass her too much more. You turn back to your paperwork at hand.

Both of you sat much closer together now, your thighs touching. You wondered what your relationship would look like from here on out.

[counsellormurdock]

okay, posting some matt x peter, spideydevil stuff.

this is just a quick little blurb of nonsense that was inspired by tasm2 with peter hating the itsy bitsy spider song.

writing ft. foggy and jen walters and peter isn’t actually directly in this. but it’s fine. just, listen, this is ridiculous okay? my writing partner and i bantered about this and i wrote this for it.

🍸itsy bitsy

the annual new york law journal’s attorney of the year award banquet reached the point in the evening where those in attendance have switched from that air of professionalism while awards were accepted and speeches given, to taking full advantage of the open bar.

scheduled to end at 9:30, the reception hall was booked through until midnight. a tradition for those in attendance to enjoy themselves and let down their hair – as they say. foggy is seven pina colada’s deep, working on his eighth, with one of the little umbrellas tucked behind his ear.

matt, far more sensitive to the overall effect of alcohol, has gone shot for shot with jennifer walters. while not in her hulk form, matt has a slight advantage over her. that only lasts so long after the fifth shot, which was supposed to be high end tequila but was something far stronger, matt has to focus hard to work against the alcohol in his system.

it’s not that he’s a lightweight, six foot one and just over two hundred pounds, his body mass can easily handle the alcohol without concern of reaching dangerous levels. but the sensitive nature which matt experiences the world around him is quickly thrown out of equilibrium with the introduction of alcohol.

jennifer is ordering another round, “matt you gotta quit, you just gotta quit.” foggy warns, all to knowingly but too intoxicated himself to do anything about it.

“shush, franklin, i’m fine.” he isn’t, not really, but any consideration into his state is derailed when his phone rings. “hang on, peter’s calling me.”

‘the itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout –‘

“I hate that song, I hate that song so much.” peter says, after someone, for what had to be the umpteenth time, mocked spider-man with it while out on patrol.

“it’s not that bad of a song.” matt says, a suspicious smirk already covering his lips.

“it is a terrible song! if you had some children’s song about a daredevil people sing sarcastically at you, you’d feel the same.”

matt’s nodding, “yeah, of course, absolutely not going to set that song to your ring tone now.”

“matthew.” peter’s expression flat, the voice over feature on matt’s phone guiding him, out loud, to setting a customized song. “matthew!”

‘- down came the rain and –‘

“hello, mr. parker, i was just, thinking about you.” matt says, a little overzealous to be talking with his husband, despite doing so not even four hours previously.

on the other end of the line peter bites back a laugh, disappointed he couldn’t attend the banquet with matt this year due to his own engagements. however, still plans to be there to pick his intoxicated husband up in a cab to ensure he gets safely home. they hold a short conversation, coordinating times to meet and exchanging their goodbyes before hanging up.

jennifer is putting another shot glass into matt’s hand. “why is peter’s ring tone the itsy bitsy spider?” she asks, leaning against the bar. every other person that calls matt, his phone simply announces the caller’s name in a rather dull electronic voice.

“because he hates it.” foggy chimes in, had his fair share of hearing peter complain about it over the years.

matt’s nodding with a wicked grin, “yeah. although… it doesn’t really fit.” he leans towards jennifer, “’cuz i’ll tell you what, there’s nothing itsy bitsy about that spider.”

jennifer sputters a laugh, and even foggy is amusingly rolling his eyes, but in unison - “matthew! shut up.”

[yakuzacanons]

PLEASE 💥💳💥💥💳 SOME RYUJI DATING HEADCANONS 💳💥💳💥 (+NSFW if u don't mind, cause you already know this man is a BEAST in bed! I'm talking exTREME stamina!) I'm in LOVE with that man!!! 😩

Ahhhh Ryuji's first request, YES I will happily oblige. I love that big silly man, he's so funny to me. Also his outfits are so styling, wtf. Headcanons below the cut, sorry it took a bit to get to this one. Hope you have a great day/night!

Ryuji plans THE best dates. Just when you think you've done it all and gone everywhere with Ryuji, he WILL find someplace new to go and new things to do. He really likes experiencing things with you as to him nothing is more meaningful than time spent with you.

Totally the type of guy to be a very proud boyfriend. If people at the Omi Alliance asks where he's going that evening, he will proudly and probably way too loudly respond with "I am gonna get dinner with my wonderful partner!" with a huge grin on his face.

Speaking of dinner, going on dinner dates is his absolute favorite type of date. He's very attentive to what your favorite snacks, meals, and drinks are and commits it all to memory. Picks the most amazing restaurants for anniversaries and birthdays, always complete with a private table and a bottle of your favorite alcohol.

Says things like "Order whatever ya want, babe" or "I saw ya admiring this outfit the other day so I went ahead and bought it for ya. Hope I got the right size" as gift giving is absolutely his love language. He also likes shopping the most out of the boys and doesn't find it to be tedious at all. He loves seeing your face light up when you find something you like and since money is no object to him, he is more than happy to spoil you rotten.

As much as he loves giving you gifts, he also loves receiving them. There's no one on earth that's as appreciative of gifts as Ryuji. He'll always react to gifts from you by saying "Wow, for me? Really?" before wrapping you into a big bear hug. He's so used to thinking about other people that it really moves him when someone does the same for him.

He's got the softest spot for pets so don't ever ask him if he wants to go to a cat café because he will never say no. Animals also really like him, whenever he goes to a cat café, all the kittens pile into his lap. Dogs at the park happily lick his face when he tries to pet them. Totally the type of boyfriend to beg for the two of you to get a pet one day.

When it comes to physical affection, Ryuji isn't shy. He likes to walk around hand in hand or with his arm draped around your waist or around your shoulders. Pretty affectionate with kissing and does it often. He's lazy at cuddling though, he just sort of drapes his arm over you.

He's got a pretty average sex drive but his stamina is quite above average. Ryuji is a balanced sex partner, equally giving and receiving. Open to trying new things but tends to let you lead the way in that regard. If you express an interest in trying something out, he'll at least give it a shot.

Ryuji is rough during sex, mostly on accident. He just gets caught up in it and would not actually hurt you intentionally, unless you're into that. Has a bad habit of giving you a LOT of hickeys because he just gets overzealous during sex.

Fairly noisy during sex, although it's more of a grunting or rumbling sound than an outright moan. He likes it when you make a lot of noises though and he will totally tease you about it, so if you're into that, he's going to take advantage of that.

Good at aftercare. Will give you massages, get you tea, and check on you. One of his favorite things is taking a nice warm bubble bath with you. He can do this either sexually or romantically depending on you're both feeling. He just thinks it's a cute thing to do.

Be warned, this man snores quite a bit. Also, he has a bad habit of walking around his bedroom totally naked but if you ask, he'll throw a robe on.

[anatomic-adoration]

3/26/23

It's that time again, I can feel it. Invisible chains weighing down my every limb, threatening to lock me in place under the abyss of my own thoughts. If I don't do something about it soon, then... well, to be honest I'm not sure what would happen. I'm trying to throw myself into my studies. The work is rigorous. If I force myself to focus, keep my hands busy, then it should be enough. We just need to hold out until it passes. The lab got a new shipment of rats to experiment with, and they're really cute. I might smuggle one of the runts home; it's either that or the rat guillotine, so no one will mind. Maybe a pet will keep me occupied enough at home to shake off these intrusive thoughts. The little guy I'm eyeing is adorable; he has a small patch of tan fur on his head shaped like a heart and he always spins in an attempt to win more food pellets. I think I saw a pet store in the strip mall with the coffee shop, so I'll probably swing by after work today to pick up cage and some toys for him. There are definitely worse things I could do on an impulse.

[Later]

I may have been a bit overzealous. The cage wasn't cheap, and despite being labeled "for rats" the bars are too far apart to even stop the runt from getting out. It was a huge pain dragging the full cage filled with supplies back to my apartment, it's big and awkward, much less without the added strain of trying to get through the woods. I probably should've taken the bus, or maybe this is a sign I should work out more, but there's no use dwelling on mistakes. I still managed to get it home in one piece, though I can't say the same about myself.

A branch on the ground snagged my ankle. I was around the halfway point so I just pulled my sock higher in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Later I went to clean it and throw a bandaid on, but the alcohol wipe reopened the wound. I really shouldn't have, but I had to get a few pictures of it. The blood beaded up in a few select spots before merging into one thick puddle. It looked unreasonably cool! In my excitement to get the perfect shot, I let the pool of blood get too thick and it dripped down directly onto the carpet. It's fine, I'll clean it up later. Between the cut, limping, and dragging a full cage that was practically as big as me, it's been a busy evening. A couple people were definitely staring at me dealing with the latter two, but it is what it is.

In the meantime I had to rat proof a room as best I could considering the circumstances. At least until the runt is big enough for the cage to be of any practical use. I also read that rats can get lonely, so tomorrow I plan on going around and collecting the runts from my cohorts as well. Maybe I'll create an army of rats! I'm feeling a lot more calm than this morning, so maybe this whole thing wasn't for naught. First day here and he's already an emotional support buddy.

------

Oh my God. I heard a weird scratching sound so I checked to make sure the rat wasn't tearing up the carpet, and he just... ate the blood stain. The sound was his teeth picking at the fibers so he could get a better taste. His little nose smeared with red is the only proof I have that the blood was ever there. I love him.

Dgsjkyx ysjev🤝UK ring o😅eu (I let him walk across the keyboard. He's going to be happy here)

[luveline]

Hi!!! I love this idea so can I please get I need a ride + someone spiked the punch with pretty boy Steve? Maybe something where r is at a Halloween party and has to call Steve, who comes in his pajamas, so he can take her home? Thank you dearest, I love your work (and before you ask YES what you called your hurt/comfort request was what I requested and no I am not taking criticism at this time).

join luveline's halloween party

hey!!!! ty for ur request, hurt/comfort with bff!steve x tipsy!gn!reader

Your knees ache. You're sitting all screwed up on the bottom step of the staircase so people can get past you, too tired and achy to keep standing. This was the best seat available.

Your heart ticks in your chest, the threat of tears stinging behind your eyes.

Steve should be here soon. Maybe. You're not sure if he's actually coming to get you he'd sounded that tired, which is another reason to cry. You'd woken him up to come and save you like you always do. He's going to get sick of you eventually. He might be already.

You smother a hiccup with the back of your hand and wait.

You're not sure how long it takes. One second you're awake and miserable and the next you're nearly sleeping, a familiar hand climbing from your knee to your thigh.

"You okay?" Steve asks quietly. You almost miss it under the bumping stereo.

"Steve?" you question, eyes bleary and words sticky as thick toffee.

"Yeah. Ready to go?"

You close your eyes and ignore him. Not because he isn't really pretty, or because you haven't missed him like crazy, but because you're suddenly exhauste.

Fatigue claws at you and keeps you where you're curled, a tight ball that doesn't wanna move no matter how hard your best friend tries it. Steve starts with amicable hands hooked in your armpits, then tries to pick your head up of off your chest. When neither works, he sighs morosely and starts blowing hot breath at your eyelashes.

"Don't," you whine softly.

"You asked me to come and save you, bub. Get up."

"No, just-" You huff. "Leave me here."

"I forgot alcohol makes you cranky."

"M'not cranky," you grumble.

Steve's hands are hot, twin hearths pressed to your covered knees. "This is a nice costume," he says, pinching at your ripped jeans. "You're Cameron, right? From Ferris Bueller? Makes complete sense."

You smile ruefully. You'd thought the same.

"I can see you smiling," he says, voice like twined stands of spun gold. It shines. It's soft.

You rub your tired, bloodshot eyes and open them, startled at what you find. Steve kneels in front of you looking maddeningly handsome in a way that scream little effort has been made. He's in his pajamas, for one, plaid bottoms and a shirt that's too short for him, the tiniest slither of naked torso and hair visible if you look for it.

Which you definitely don't.

"C'mon, perv," he says.

You meet his melty brown eyes and glare. "Shut up, Harrington."

"Shut me up. Come on, let's go."

Steve holds both hands palm up, keys hanging around his middle finger like a ring. You slide your hands slowly against his. You swear you can feel every tiny line, every crease and wrinkle.

He rubs your knuckles with his thumbs. "Something's weird about you tonight," he says curiously.

"Something weird about you every night."

He laughs loudly and stands, helping you to your feet with infinite patience. He's always like this when you're drunk; he acts as if you're made of the most fragile glasswork ever crafted, shielding you from stray elbows and overzealous shoes.

Steve keeps one hand in his as he drags you down the steps and out onto the street. The sky is pitch black but the party lights glare over everything, casting the world in an irritating technicolor. He frowns at you as you cover your eyes and moves to stand behind you with a hand guiding your lower back to his haphazardly parked car.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," you say as he opens the passenger side door.

Steve helps you in and miraculously you don't smash your skull on the roof.

"This is exactly the kind of stuff you should be waking me up for, don't worry," he placates, following you inside the car.

You gasp at his sudden proximity and hold your breath as he stretches your belt over your chest and clicks it in. To your horror — excitement? — he lingers, face alarmingly close. The heat of his breath kisses your wind-chilled cheeks.

"Are you okay? You sounded really upset, on the phone."

You shake your head, tipsiness making you slow, head heavy as a sack of quarters. "I don't remember."

"You said you missed me."

You watch his lips form each word and are still, somehow, surprised. You're pulse jump-starts, smile shaky and unsure as you ask, "I did?" way too loudly.

"Something about needing a Ferris to your Cameron."

He waits for you to say something. You shake your head with an awkward little giggle and he shrugs, ducking out of the car. "All limbs inside the ride?"

You pull your elbow away from the door and let him swing it closed.

"Robin always says that movie has a lot of subtext, you know?" he asks, climbing into the driver's side. He inserts his key and starts the engine, reversing before you've had a chance to comprehend what he said.

"What?" you ask, off-kilter.

"Robin, she says that Cameron has major feelings for Ferris."

You don't like his smile. It's knowing. He can't know how you feel about him, there's no way, but his smile. So frustratingly smug.

"Ferris is a dick," you say eventually.

Steve roars with laughter. You can't believe it, the way he tips his head back just a touch, his teeth poking out, his huge smile as he struggles to regain composure. He turns to you bodily in all his pajama'd glory and winks.

"Tell me how you really feel," he says sarcastically.

You slouch down into your seat and pretend to lose consciousness. Steve leans across the console and flicks your leg all the way home.

"Don't want you to succumb to alcohol poisoning, or anything."

With the way his teasing makes you feel it might be a kinder fate.

[partypoisonzz]

singing vows before we exchange smoke rings (mikey way x reader smut)

Era: Bullets/Van Days (2003)

Reader Pronouns: She/her

Content:

- Recreational drug use (weed)

- An endearingly awkward first time

- Lots of position switching

Word Count: 4,334

Disclaimer: This explicit story was written by an adult for consumption by other adults only. If you are under 18, please do not read or interact in any way.

-

You return to the van after the show, expecting to find the whole band. It isn't that you can't carry the remaining boxes of merch back by yourself, — you totally can, — but having four extra sets of hands generally helps a ton.

Alas, when you shift the box you're currently carrying onto your hip and slide the door open, you find that only one of the guys is accounted for. That one guy happens to be spindly, uncoordinated Mikey.

Though you know that he's hardly any better at carrying merch boxes than you are, thirteen pound bass be damned, you'll take whatever help you can get. "Hey, Mikey?"

He startles at the sound of your voice, looking up from his cell phone. "Oh. Yeah?"

You struggle to keep the box balanced. God knows that you don't want to spill half a box of CDs in the parking lot. "Can I get a little help here?"

"Yeah. Absolutely." He stands up, only to hit his head on the top of the van. "Ow! Shit..." he grumbles, ambling to a stop in front of you. "I'll get that."

He takes the box from you. Though he still struggles to keep it leveraged, he has less trouble carrying it around to the back of the van and lifting it into the trunk than you would. He turns to look at you after setting the box down, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Got any more?"

"Just a few, over by the merch tent," you reply. "I'll buy you a candy bar if you come help me with them."

He flashes you a boyish grin. "Deal."

The two of you head towards the merch tent. "The T-shirts were pretty thoroughly picked through," you say. "CDs got gone, too. I  think we just brought out too many."

"Yeah, well. We can get overzealous sometimes." Mikey stops in front of the table, surveying the remaining few boxes. He picks up the fullest one before heading back towards the van.

You pick up another box and follow him. "So, where did everybody else go?" you ask.

"Out partying," he replies. "Gerard's still messed up over that girl. No matter how many times we tell him that we didn't like her anyway, he still feels the need to mope and drown his sorrows in alcohol."

"Well, he liked her. That makes all the difference." You shove the second box into the trunk. "Alright. One more and I'll get out of your hair."

Mikey places his own box down and turns towards you. "Who says I want you out of my hair?"

You feel your face heating up. Thank God that it's dark outside, or he would see that you're blushing.

You shrug. "I just kinda figured you wanted to be alone, since you stayed back..."

"No," he cuts you off. "You're good. Seriously. I was getting kind of lonely, anyway."

"You aren't just saying that to make me feel better?" you press, following him back to the tent.

He shakes his head. "Nope. In fact, I'd enjoy the company."

Your face grows hotter.

The fact that Mikey might enjoy your company means more to you than you would really like to admit.

"So, why are you stuck on parking lot duty while the rest of the guys have a night out on the town?" You lift the last box full of shirts. "Not to pit you against your bandmates or anything, but that hardly seems fair."

Mikey laughs as he picks up the other box. "You wanna know the truth?"

"Always."

"I'm kinda hungover right now," he says. "Just the thought of looking at liquor makes me want to puke. Not to mention having to spend the rest of my evening with Bert."

You mock-gasp. "Michael!" You jostle him lightly with your shoulder. "How dare you speak ill of your brother's boyfriend?"

Mikey responds to your joking inquiry with a question of his own. "Do you really think watching Bert serve as Gerard's rebound would do anything good for my persistent nausea?"

You pretend to think about it before sighing in mock defeat. "No. I guess not."

"That's what I thought."

With the last merch boxes secured in the back of the van, the two of you are finally left up to your own devices.

"So, what now?" You lean against the side of the van, crossing your arms over your chest. The February night's air has a definite bite to it. "It's about eleven o'clock. We don't have to be in Massachusetts until the day after tomorrow, so who knows when the rest will be back." You cast Mikey a curious glance. "You got any ideas?"

Though you assume that his shrug is intended to seem noncommittal, he has a guilty look about him as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Uh... I might have something..."

You raise your eyebrows at him, but you know better than to ask if he's thinking what you're thinking.

Whatever you hope he might have in mind probably won't be the case. Besides, if he rejects you, you're going to be alone with him for the foreseeable future. How awkward would that be?

"Something like what?" you ask, attempting to keep any hint of hope out of your voice.

Mikey's eyes dart around the parking lot. Once he has apparently decided that he's in the clear, he reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a balled-up plastic bag. "Me and Frank, um... We met a guy before the show..."

You let out an incredulous laugh. "You mean to tell me that you played an entire show with a baggie of weed in your pocket?"

"Uh, kinda... Well, yeah." He doesn't crack a smile. For the moment, he is totally and completely, almost laughably serious. "So, are you in?"

"You're a brave man, Mikey Way." You nod at him. "Sure."

"Great." He pushes the door of the van open and steps back inside. "Just let me grab my stuff..."

You peek your head around the corner. "Don't you want to do it in there?"

"Nah." You hear him rustling around, searching for something. "I don't particularly want to add pot to the stench in here. Brian would kill me." He finally seems to locate what he's looking for, stuffing it into his pocket before carefully working his way down the middle aisle again. "This place is just one big smoke cloud, anyway. As long as we're careful, we'll be fine."

You grin. "Living dangerously, I see. I wouldn't have pegged you for the type."

"You'd be surprised." He closes the door and turns to look at you. "So. You wanna sit on the hood of the van?"

-

"Is that one the big dipper?"

"No. That's the little dipper." You point off into the distance. "The big one's over here, see?"

You turn your head to the side, watching as Mikey squints up at the sky. He appears to be genuinely concentrating.

Finally, he shakes his head. "I don't see a thing," he admits. "But those are definitely stars."

You laugh, reaching to swipe the joint from between his fingers. He lets you take it without putting up a fight.

You take a deep pull, sucking the smoke in until you let out a cough. You pass it back to Mikey, who immediately takes a drag himself.

You try not to think about the fact that the two of you are technically swapping spit right now, albeit not in the way that you would like.

"Was this on your agenda for tonight?" you ask him. "Getting high in the parking lot with the merch girl?"

He pulls away from the joint, passing it back to you as he blows a rather impressive smoke ring. "You aren't just the merch girl, y'know."

"No?" You take a shallower drag before pulling away. Your head already feels fuzzy. Everything around you moves slower, seems gentler. "What am I, then?"

"You're my friend." He sounds so earnest as he takes the joint back, allowing it to burn out between his fingers.

Your chest tightens. Still, you don't give yourself the luxury of believing it. "You really think that?" you ask dubiously. "We barely get the opportunity to get two words in to each other most of the time. Plus, you're a rockstar, and I'm just some loser, trying to scrape through college..."

"I am not a rockstar," he cuts you off. "The rest of the guys could be, I guess. Gerard's got the stage presence. Frank's got the work ethic. Ray's... Well, he's the best guitarist I've ever met, really. But me?" He shrugs. "I just had the vision. I know we're a glorified garage band. I'm just happy to be in a band at all."

He shoots you a shy smile. "If I had any sense about me, I'd be in your shoes right now," he says. "Maybe we'd share a class or something."

You shake your head vehemently. "No."

"No what?" Mikey giggles, reaching a finger out to poke you in the ribs. "You think you're too smart to share a class with me?"

Christ, he's stoned. Not that you aren't, too.

"No," you repeat. "You shouldn't be in my shoes right now. And you're definitely not in a glorified garage band." You meet his eyes through the dark.

"You're gonna make it, Mikey," you tell him. "Not just your band. You. There's more to you than you give yourself credit for."

At first, he just blinks at you.

Your stomach sinks. If he hadn't figured out that you had a crush on him before, he definitely knows now.

Finally, he laughs. There's no malice in it, nor discomfort. He sounds... Well, happy.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "That, ah... That means a lot."

You sigh, turning away from him. Your face feels like it's about to catch fire. Even though the compliment lit him up, you still feel so stupid. Like you shouldn't be sitting here next to him, smoking his weed, taking up his time.

You like him. You've liked him since the moment you first met him. Knowing that the band is going to take off, — you can feel it in your bones that they will, — and that you'll have to trade in your merch-selling gig for something more substantial, you know that this is a dumb thing to put yourself through. Mikey will be able to go after anyone he wants, and he won't think twice about that one merch girl back in Jersey ever again.

A cold gust of air passes by, causing you to shiver.

"Are you cold?" Mikey scoots closer to you. "Here."

You watch as he shrugs out of his coat. "You don't have to do that," you protest. "I'm okay."

He shakes his head. "You're freezing," he argues. "I can tell."

"Mikey..." You trail off as he holds his coat out to you.

His eyes are red and sleepy, but they're also full of hope.

You sigh and pull your arms through the sleeves.

Mikey practically beams as you pull the coat tighter around you. "There we go."

Before you can stop it, the question that is currently nagging at you slips from your tongue. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Mikey blinks at you. "What do you mean?" he asks. "Am I not always nice?"

"Yeah, but..." You reach up, nervously running a hand through your hair before listing off all the things he's done tonight that have fucked with your head.

"Helping me with the merch was one thing. I figured you were just being decent," you start. "But then you asked me to stay with you and invited me to smoke and listened to me talk about constellations and called me your friend and said I was smart and..."

"Hey." You startle at the feeling of his hand on your shoulder at first. Just when he's about to pull away, however, you melt into his touch. Just like you've been dying to do forever.

Mikey sighs, staring across the parking lot. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't wanna, like... make you uncomfortable, or give you the wrong idea, or anything..."

"It isn't anything like that," you say. "I'm just..." You look down at the ground, huffing out a broken laugh before looking back up at him.

"I know that you have other people you could call," you go on. "So why me?"

He looks at you like you've grown an extra head. "What do you mean, why you?"

"I didn't think you knew I existed," you blurt out. "Well, I mean, you knew I existed, obviously, since I've been working for your band, and I've hung out with you guys a few times after shows. But the fact that you care enough to want to hang out with me... To listen to me talk about nothing... To give me your jacket..." You give another watery laugh, pulling your knees up to your chest. "It just doesn't make sense to me."

For a few moments, Mikey seems to mull over everything you've just told him, absentmindedly rubbing gentle circles against your shoulder all the while.

Finally, he breaks the silence. "You know what you said earlier about there being more to me than I give myself credit for?"

You give him a shaky nod.

He smiles gently at you. "I think the same could be said about you," he continues. "You know why I asked you to hang out with me tonight?"

"Why?"

"Because there's nobody in my contact list who I would rather keep me company. I want to get to know you."

"You aren't bullshitting me?"

"Not at all. You've always been so good to me and the band... Always have something nice to say... Everyone else just talks, but you..." He chuckles.

"You listen," he continues. "Sometimes I just look at you and know that you're taking it all in, y'know? That you care about other people. That you're here for us just as much as you're here for yourself." He squeezes your shoulder before pulling his hand back. "Basically, what I'm trying to say is... If you're just the merch girl, then you're the greatest merch girl alive. But I see you as a little more than that."

You're taking it all in right at this very moment. You swallow, your throat cotton-dry. All that comes out is his name. "Mikey..."

You take another moment to gather your thoughts, then clear your throat before trying again.

Somehow, you manage to meet his eyes. "Thank you," you tell him. "Really."

"Thank you." Maybe you're just high, but it feels like he's genuinely looking into your soul. This delights you just as much as it scares you.

"For what?"

"For being you."

At some point, one of you moved a little closer to the other. You don't know which one of you it was, but that doesn't really matter.

Whatever the case, both of you are inching even closer to one another now, your lips coming this close to touching.

It's no longer a matter of whether or not the feelings you have for him are mutual. It's fairly obvious that they are.

At this point, the only question is which one of you will close the distance between you.

As it would turn out, it's Mikey.

He places his hand on your cheek before leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. His lips are a little rough, — chapped from the cold, — but the way that he kisses you is so soft. He's gentle, tender. You close your eyes, placing your hands on the back of his neck.

Rather than coming to an end, the kiss just keeps deepening. You let out a squeak of surprise as your back hits the hood of the van.

You swear that this all feels like a dream. You're splayed out on top of the van beneath the stars, your head fuzzy, with Mikey on top of you. You're making out with the guy you've had your eye on for months, and you're wearing his coat, and...

And he's pulling on the bottom of your shirt. Wow. Okay.

He pulls back, looking down at you tentatively. His hand still lingers at the hem of your T-shirt. "Is this okay?"

You nod before leaning in to kiss him again.

You jerk back as soon as his hand meets your skin.

Mikey gives you a look of concern, pulling his hand away. "You alright?"

"Fine. Your hands are just really cold."

"Sorry." He rubs his palms together before placing a hand on your arm. "What about now?"

You laugh. "Yeah. That's better."

"Good." His hand climbs up your shirt again, and the two of you go right back to kissing.

Before you know it, his hand is climbing under your bra. You reach up to bury your hands in his hair as his fingertips explore your skin.

He presses his entire body closer to yours, moaning into your mouth.

You feel him, hard beneath his jeans and pressing against your thigh.

In a split second, you make a decision.

You pull away, managing to pant out two words. "Hey, Mikey?"

Struggling to regulate his own breathing, he looks down at you, pupils blown wide. "Hmm?"

"If this is gonna go any further, we've gotta get in the backseat," you say. "I am not about to fuck you on top of this van."

It doesn't take him long to come up with a response to this. "Alright," he says. "Backseat, it is."

-

As soon as the two of you climb into the backseat, you're kissing again. Mikey pulls you onto his lap, tugging his coat off of you and tossing it aside. You grind your hips down against his experimentally as his tongue explores the inside of your mouth.

"Fuck," he curses quietly, pulling away from you.

You grin down at him. He gives you a shaky laugh. "C'mere," he murmurs, hands gripping your hips. "Let me see you."

His hands reach for the bottom of your shirt again, pulling it over your head.

He sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes scan over your bare skin. "Beautiful."

The way that the word falls from your lips is almost enough to make you believe it.

"And what about you?" you ask, tugging on his own shirt. He shifts, allowing you to pull it off of him.

You smile, running your hands over his chest. "You're not so bad yourself, y'know," you murmur before pressing your lips to his neck and sucking.

He throws his head back, giving you access to more of his skin. His low groan is music to your ears as your mouth travels over his skin.

"You're unreal," he says, voice high and desperate.

You pull back with a sly smile. "If that's what you think after second base, I'm curious to know what you'll have to say after you hit the homerun."

He chuckles. "Well, why don't we just find out?"

He reaches for the button of your jeans. You lift your hips after he pulls down the zipper, allowing him to tug them off.

You gasp as his hand slips down the front of your underwear.

"You're soaked already." His remark carries notes of genuine awe. "Thought I was gonna have to finger you before we could..."

You roll your hips into his hand, whimpering. "Please," you beg him. "Need you now, Mikey. Just go ahead and fuck me."

He exhales shakily. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were driving him just as crazy as he's driving you. "Okay," he breathes. "Yeah. That can be arranged."

You reach down, undoing his own jeans as you kick your underwear away. Just before you toss them into the floor, he stops you. "Wait."

You freeze, watching as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket. He reaches inside and pulls out a foil packet.

You can't look away as you watch him pull down his boxers and roll on the condom. Your breath hitches as your gaze settles on his cock.

Just as you imagined, he's big. Still, your imagination didn't quite do it justice. You can only wonder how it will feel inside of you.

Pretty soon, you won't have to wonder.

"Alright," he breathes.

You inhale shakily, lowering yourself down on him.

You moan shakily as he presses into you. You slide down slowly, relishing the feeling of him filling you up, until you finally take him all the way.

"Holy shit," you mutter before rolling your hips. Mikey groans, thrusting up into you.

You gasp, fingernails scraping down his shoulders.

The two of you move against each other, attempting to establish a tentative rhythm. As good as it feels, you soon find that your position isn't doing you any favors.

Your legs are spread awkwardly across the van's back aisle. If Mikey's arms weren't wrapped around your waist, you might go careening backwards into the floor. Every now and then, Mikey accidentally hits his head on the roof of the van, causing him to mutter a low curse under his breath before going back to what he was doing.

Finally, you speak up. "Mikey?" you ask.

He freezes underneath you with a quiet groan. "Yeah?"

"The position that we're in," you say. "I don't think that it's very... practical."

He looks down, huffing out a laugh. "You're right." He meets your eyes with a soft smile. "I've got an idea. Lay on your back."

You lift your hips, whining slightly as he slips out of you. Mikey shifts slightly as you stretch across the seat. "Like this?"

"Yeah."

He positions himself over you, arms coming to rest on either side of your head. He presses a kiss to your lips as he pushes back inside of you before pulling back. "Is this good?"

"Y-yeah. It is."

And for a while, it really is. Until he begins to fuck into you faster, causing the seatbelt fastener to dig into your back with every thrust.

"Wait, wait, wait... Ow, my back," you manage. 

Mikey stops once again. Though he's breathing even harder this time, — getting close, you know, — he gives you the same gentle look of concern. "You okay?"

"I am, but can we just..." You shift underneath him slightly. "Can we readjust a bit?"

"Of course. Lemme help you, actually." He grabs your hips, pulling you towards him. You gasp, feeling him plunge deeper inside of you.

"Better now?" he asks, forehead resting against yours.

You nod. "Much better."

With that, he picks up his pace again. Not only are you in an actually comfortable position now, but he manages to hit your G-spot with nearly every thrust.

You loop your arms around his neck, holding onto him as he speeds up. As worried as you were about the weed, you know that the van is probably rocking back and forth, and if someone caught you like this, it would probably be even worse.

You let out a soft moan as his hand slides between the two of you. He circles your clit in time with his thrusts, causing the pull between your hips to intensify quickly.

"Mikey..." you whimper.

"Feel good?" he asks.

"Uh huh," you say. "Filling me up so good, Mikey, Jesus Christ..."

He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as his head dips down towards your neck. He presses a kiss there, his teeth scraping slightly over your skin before he pulls back.

"You're so pretty," he murmurs in your ear. "Didn't think I was gonna get to see you like this tonight. Do you know how long I've been thinking about this?"

Your heart beats faster at this tidbit of information. How long had it been since he first noticed you in that light? "N-no," you say. "How long?"

"Not long after I first met you," he replies. "I nearly passed out every time you so much as smiled at me. Never thought you'd give me the time of day."

You struggle to keep your composure as your breathing speeds up, your climax approaching quickly. "But here I am."

His lips brush against your collarbone. "Here you are."

The waves of pleasure begin rolling through you, threatening to take over completely.

You say his name again, a desperate cry. "Mikey. I'm gonna..."

Just as you feel yourself tightening around him, his head falls to your shoulder. He releases inside of you with a deep groan.

You close your eyes, relishing the feeling of losing control at the exact same time that he does. What are the odds?

You don't mind when Mikey pretty much collapses on top of you. The weight of his ribs pressing against yours is comforting, in a way. A reminder that this is all real.

"Wow," he murmurs. "That was... You were..."

You brush a kiss across his jaw. "Unreal?"

He gives a raspy laugh. "Yeah. That sounds about right."

Your lips meet one more time before he pulls out. "We should probably get dressed before the others get back," he says.

"Probably," you agree. Though there's a part of you that longs to lay in his arms a little longer and soak up the moment, you tell yourself to be realistic.

Still, you feel a surge of hope when he asks you: "Wanna do that again sometimes?"

"Sure," you reply quickly, pulling your jeans back on. "When?"

He pauses to think for a moment. "How about after the next show?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Great."

You know the way that this will go if you keep doing this. You know that isn't a smart idea. You're halfway to falling for him already. You'll want more in no time.

Still, when he leans over to kiss your cheek, only to hit his head on the roof and huff out what must be his hundredth 'fuck' of the night, you decide that this is more than enough for now.

-

Taglist (Ask to be included!): @mysunfishpeedinmyroom @xocasper @clichedlovers @yachiiko

[sugar-petals]

Måneskin Reaction :: You Flirt With Them ❤️

# word count. 2k 

♡ note. hello, bisexuals and associates!!! happy pride month. you’ve given so much love to my ‚gettin‘ frisky w/ måneskin' 18+ scenario y’all are amazing. so, i’m back back back again 👀 for more fun stuff, this time with some world-building. enjoy!

TAGS/WARNINGS. ⚠️ ot4 imagines x gn!reader, suggestive, humor, cursing, innuendo, sex toy mention, ass jokes, reader’s dirty mouth, flirting at work, brief violence/alcohol/party drugs mention, almost-accident, damiano’s steamy gnc outfit

read it on ao3

thomas | Things start out in a literal fleeting heartbeat. You’re kind of exhausted from the concert high, but also full of guitar solo-induced adrenaline. Lord knows how you got a ticket for the very front. Afraid to be a little overzealous and attention-grabbing, you still made sure the band did not think the festival crowd was lame. Singing louder than three people at once hopefully makes a difference. So that’s that, and the setlist was great, anyway. Now, the stage is almost entirely empty, people rush to drink water. And: They want to see Metallica playing it up on a different stage. They’re already blasting a Queen song to warm up and gather the audience. Over here, the first row of course doesn’t dissolve that fast. Actually, you’re not mad being stuck here. You’re kind of witnessing staff tidying some cables right in front of you, and your band crush stringing up his guitar in real time. Thomas, who else. Fiddling with his instrument, he’s kind of preoccupied. Man, he’s too cute. You love his tousled hair and cravat. Enter Sandman is playing from the other direction, so more and more people around you start to leave. How you care, you just keep your head turned to the Måneskin stage hoping there’s a chance to interact. But watch what happens next — oh boy.

After Thomas — in full glam gear, that is — rattles down head first from the stage stairs since his heels got caught, but thankfully grabs hold of your arm: Well. Now you do have a chance to chat him up. Sort of like a little meet and greet. Okay, it’s kind of improvised and casual. You saved his neck and those long legs from tangling, he wants to repay you. „Oh— You like my guitar?“ he quips, with his signature sultry bedroom eyes, you know `em. „Hey sure, I can play something for you. I know it’s a bit shabby, but it’s supposed to be like that!“ And he starts plucking away on the fretboard, doing some scales, it all looks pretty impressive. You continue with some banter like hey, it’s supposed to be all chipped-off and rundown. He’s a super sexy rockstar, and practice makes perfect. A used guitar’s a good one. Thomas almost messes up his playing when he hears you call him sexy. „Am I?“ — „Of course! Look at you.“ — „I don’t get that a lot. People call me laid-back or something. You also look really cool.“ Duh, you have Måneskin merch on. Of course you look sick as hell. With the conversation progressing, the two of you sort of trail off backstage, and Thomas asks if you wanna have some licks, too. „Guitar licks or some other licks?“ is what you reply, and he shrugs, looking pretty sheepish right there. „Whatever you choose.“ — „Best of both worlds sounds very good.“

victoria | Dancing up to Victoria at a party feels scarier than it actually turns out to be. Although you’re terrified she’ll reject and flame you, you just give it a try and slowly, very slowly but surely… gyrate those hips in her direction. She smiles at you, she gets on your wavelength, returns the moves. Does she like what you do? Maybe? Is she in the mood? Is she just friendly? Does she laugh because she thinks you look utterly pathetic in front of the queen of the world? She’s Victoria from Måneskin! Hell, you just keep going. You started this, you got your groove on, you can’t chicken out now. The eye contact, it’s everything. That Vic walked up to the party in a hot cowgirl outfit is just too hot to ignore. A drunk and dizzy guy, ill-dressed and foul-mouthed as can be, stumbling in her direction with no seeming breaks on you briefly shove out the way. Not too aggressively, but resolute enough. How dare this smelly fucker interrupt your little mating dance right here. One does not disturb an art performance! Damiano on his best behavior, standing some meters away with his cocktail glass takes care of the rest, cussing the house down like hey you stupid walking can of beer, get out, Victoria is flirting, what’s your problem! Damiano is going absolutely ballistic on this guy, he gets a taste of his own medicine. You’re too infatuated to understand what’s happening, and nobody else cares, anyway. It’s too loud to understand the rest of the verbiage over there.

In the meantime, Vic is buzzing with excitement because her favorite song is suddenly playing at maximum volume. As if it’s a sign from above, you know the lyrics and mouth them. That’s the absolute last straw, baby. „We need to go, we need to go!“ — blink once, Victoria drags you onto the dancefloor without further ado and goes crazy. You’re suddenly wearing her cowgirl hat. So there we are! Everyone knows this lady can headbang, but this is a new level. The beat is pumping like Damiano’s heart when he sees a palette of black eyeshadow. Whatever it is that Victoria’s busting out there, hands going in all directions, you like it. That wild ass moshing almost knocks over people’s drinks in your vicinity. Gladly, a very oblivious Ethan is there to just stand in the way and shield the whole scene with his hunky body-ody-ody, like your personal hired guard. With the entire crowd pushing in all directions and new guests pouring into the room, everything gets tighter and— Well you know. Victoria winds up grinding her ass against you. And not in a shy way. Did you pass away, is this heaven? Did someone slip you an ecstasy pill? This girl is making you go insane by the minute. You never thought Vic would actually reciprocate at all, so… the more you know, and who knows where this might lead, huh.

ethan | Music video filming: Over! Cut! We’re finished. Hustle and bustle everywhere.  The producer is already envisioning millions of clicks, money, stocks — and gets on your nerves talking about `EthaNFTs’. Damiano retreated to write down some song lyrics that he doesn’t want to forget on the fly, Vic is eating a big ole hamburger in a diner next door, and Thomas is recording a kind of tiktok challenge around the corner. You arranged all the props that needed to be placed on the current set, and now put them back again. All done, then. You’re amused how the makeup and styling team took off in five seconds flat. Their favorite restaurant in the area had earlier closing times. But Ethan, taking the longest to pack up his drum kit, is now left to his own devices with changing his lace outfit back to casual. If it is casual at all, he’s 24/7 stylish. The sparkly eyeliner gotta stay on then, he has no clue where the wipes are. Just a minute later, you hear him go through a clothing rack in an adjacent room. Oh Jesus, he’s in there naked. Or in his underwear. Shit, the door is only half-closed. In an attempt to look uninvolved, you try to busy yourself picking up a glass of apple juice from the catering service and almost bump into Thomas doing the same thing, actually leaving for the parked tour bus. Departure in fifteen minutes says the driver, back to the hotel.

You can’t get yourself to actually leave just now. The set still isn’t cleared, right. So you’re just standing there, drinking juice, watching the camera crew discuss something about editing. After Ethan’s done, 90’s rock band tanktop on, guess who looks real grumpy. „Tangled mess,“ he complains under his breath, and you can tell it’s the hair, a beehive of heavy product and knots. You step over and offer your aid. After all, you’re staff, too. Ethan’s always in his own world and takes care of his things: Doesn’t mean he will refuse help. Since he can’t find a proper mirror, Ethan `bird’s nest‘ Torchio is more than okay with you brushing out his hair. Hallelujah, he has his own comb with him. He sits down, scrolls through his phone, you do your thing, making small talk at the same time. It’s actually relaxing. And who has sexier hair. You quiz him about his beauty routine while you’re at it, and he says he really takes his time in the bathtub to really work in the shampoo and conditioner. The hair gets too caught in any sink, and the shower is just boring and not so Italiano. You joke about how he should show you. You realize that would also mean… getting in the tub with him, right. Ethan, no stranger to Freudian slips, smoothes over the situation by saying why not take a camera, have you stand outside the tub and try the routine on him, so it’s gonna be a vlog at the hotel. Harmless new Ethan Insta content idea. Okay: Sounds like a plan. Thank you for doing my hair, let’s go to the bus then he says, and you walk next to each other. You always wanted to get to know him a little better.

damiano | Breakfast at the seaside hotel: The two of you already exchanged some vaguely heated glances. Nobody else was there except you, Damiano, and his sexy garter belts. You happened to be the only people in the hall at 5:45 AM, although it all felt really awkward still. That your designated tables were right next to another really did not help with the odd atmosphere. You were surprised to see him with his guard down, actually, even if his get-up screamed confidence and sexuality. Who dons a waist corset and shoulder harness this early in the morning. Walking up to the buffet where he paced around indecisively, you picked up a sandwich yourself. Right after complimenting Damiano’s all violet fashion choice… and just had to make fun of him when his `aesthetic‘ butt plug accessory chain got caught on the leg of the table. Straight-up having him wobble around on his big ass platform boots like a purple flamingo. He even tries to play it off by making a little booty-shaking dance out of it. Courtesy be damned, it’s too frickin’ early in the morning to censor yourself. And he’s the one walking around like he just visited a Dominatrix. So all you said to him was okay, that’s what happens when you put toys in your ass indeed, can’t even walk straight. Going by his unrestrained and bent-over laughter, Damiano enjoys the joke a little too much. This guy is wheezing his soul out. Ten seconds later, the realization hits. Way to go, he’s just clowned himself in front of a stranger he’s been eyefucking with. But the inappropriate humor… sure does something to him.

Back to eating: Even more awkwardly. You’re kind of laughing it off, too, now. But the story’s not over yet. After dropping a plate of scrambled eggs on his satin skirt and opening a sprite that exploded in his face — and onto your sweater, Damiano’s Italian dignity went down the drain entirely. So hey, screw the rest of breakfast, you both direly needed a change of clothing. On your way up to the rooms, someone desperately apologizes with endless what-can-i-do-for-yous. „Hm… I guess I do,“ Damiano clasps his hands behind his back, sort of kicking his dancey legs side to side to the beat of the catchy elevator music. He just looks down at his skirt and smiles all goofy. Is he shy? You just asked him if he really means it when he sings I’ll do whatever you want. Gotta be bold. And quoting his own crazy lyrics back to him when a fitting moment arises is only fair. Since he seems to mean it, you put some heat in your words. „Then, put that plug back in. There’s kids runnin’ around here, you kinky riot girl wannabe!“ —  „Oh my God, are you bullying me? You just don’t want me to trip!“ — „Hum, maybe.“ You don’t even know why you’re saying all these things, but very well: See you at lunch then in a new skirt, Mister Damiano David.

read it on ao3

© 2017-2022 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

[noaltbruh]

okay, recently I've got drunk-

how the passione (or la squadra, it is up to u bae) guys would take care of a dumbass like me?

supposing that I'm their s/o cuz I'm lonely asf🥲

LMAO This is one of the best asks I've seen in a while. I've never seen a drunk person in my life and I pretty much have no idea of what you should do in this situation, please bear with me.

Writing Bucci gang, hope you'll like it nonetheless :,)

Bucci gang taking care of drunk reader 🍻

Giorno 🐞

I see Giorno as someone who doesn't really enjoy drinking thankfully considering he's 15 and the few times he does try some wine at fancy meetings, he always makes sure not to exaggerate.

On top of this, his father would come back home drunk and brutally beat him more often than not, so I can't help but believe that seeing someone drink a lot in front of him sort of triggers the boy.

Because of this, he tries his best to keep you under control and stop you before you can cross the line. He won't be too insisting though, he's afraid of coming off as overzealous, so he will just give you a quick warning before you get to the place.

It doesn't work.

Once he sees what state you are in, he'll bring you back home as soon as he can, especially if he notices you making a fool out of yourself with a bunch of strangers or, even worse, important people.

Aside from the image he has to maintain though, he is genuinely worried for you. He will put your arm around his shoulder and calmly walk you to the car so you can get home, he also makes sure you don't accidentally trip on yourself.

Once you get home, he'll gently help you get to bed and change into something more comfortable. His next action would be telling you to go to sleep, although it doesn't seem like you're going to listen to him.

If you start to ramble about some random nonsense, Giorno won't be surprised. He's not much of a talker and will let you go on and on with your speech for as long as you'd like.

If you get emotional, he's a good shoulder to cry on and will just lightly smile at you while you let it all out.

He will ask you multiple times if you need anything or if there's something he can do to make you feel better. You can guess he had never had to deal with a drunk person before, but he tries this best to improvise and pretty much treats you like you were sick.

He'll make you rest your head on his lap in order to help you relax a little. He has this calming aura all around himself, which means that his effort to make you feel at ease in the chaotic mess that is going through your head actually brings positive results.

I can see him creating small animals as a way to distract you a little, like a little lady bug that gently goes through your hair.

Even after you fall asleep, he will keep watching over you for quite some time before joining you, he just wants to make sure that you don't try anything reckless.

He'll ask you to be a bit more careful the next time the two of you go out, but he's very glad that the drunk you is nothing like his "dad".

Bruno 🤐

Okay, Bruno is the best choice in this case. He's the most mature member and has dealt with Abbacchio's alcoholic tendencies in the past. He believes he knows what's best for you in that moment, although he may come off as slightly overbearing sometimes.

Unlike Giorno, who only gives you a quick warning, Bucciarati knows very well how reckless you tend to be with this sort of thing, which means that he'll remind you multiple times not to exaggerate and will probably keep an eye on you the whole time.

Even so, he can't stop you from turning into a drunk mess, giggling one minute and crying on the floor the next one.

The man rapidly takes you away and doesn't even let you walk back to your place, he will probably bridal-style carry you until you get there.

He'll probably use Sticky fingers to close all the windows in the house, just to avoid accidents, while he proceeds to help you lay down.

He will leave his stand to watch over you as he goes grab a basin in case you felt the urge to throw up.

While he's at it and passes by the kitchen, he'll get you some snacks to eat, as it should help you go back to being sober more fast.

He'll try to get back to you as fast as he can though. He will keep you very close to himself and gently kiss your forehead while you burst crying over something insignificant. He can't help but think it's kind of cute.

The most insisting one when it comes to you getting some rest. You will not get up from that bed until it's all passed.

He'll use the sweetest voice possible to put you to sleep as he's still busy cooing you, there is no point in trying to resist.

Bruno won't be sleeping that night, he wants to make absolutely sure that nothing bad happens to you and will spend the entire time working on some paper work while you get better.

He won't let you near alcohol for the next two weeks.

Mista 🔫

He. Is. 18.

And he will do what any 18 years old would do: abuse alcohol. I'll tell you more, it's his fault if you got drunk in the first place: the two of you were hanging out during one of your usual dates, and he proceeded to challenge you to see who could handle alcohol better.

You lost and now you're drunk.

Now, at first he will make fun of you and will probably join in some weird argument you were having with a dude passing by. However, after he notices how you seem to be getting more and more out of control, he realizes that it's his duty to bring you home before you murder a homeless person.

And unlike the ones before him, Mista will literally drag you around like a potato sack and almost throw you on the nearest sofa as soon as you're back.

He's not sure of what to do to make you feel better to be honest, but he can guess that he should keep an eye on you 'till you calm down a little.

He's also the type that will listen to your incoherent arguments and conversations, but he will actually talk back, unlike Giorno.

Probably provokes you with some weird theory like the one about vegetarians to see how you react. At the same time though, he's also genuinely concerned and will not leave you for a single moment.

He probably calls out the pistols for some extra company, the way you barely recognise them and just point at this tiny yellow beings around you gets a good chuckle out of him.

After the last random topic, he unusually gently places your head on his laps and orders his stand to get a good, warm blanket for you.

He's also going to tease you the day after, but he'll want to do it again, he can't deny that seeing you act like that was quite entertaining.

Narancia 🍊

To your surprise, Narancia may know more about this topic that one could guess at first.

He highly dislikes drinking, both because Bruno has always told him to stay away from alcohol, and because his old "friends" would sometimes get drunk in front of him, which was not a nice view, especially for the young child he used to be.

I don't think the two of you were out when it happened. You just had the brilliant idea of stealing one of Abbacchio's wine bottles, which resulted in your senses getting all messed up in quite the short time.

And even though he has some sort of "experience" when it comes to this matter, he's completely clueless at what he's supposed to do to help you in this state.

He probably takes a deep breath and uses his three remaining brain cells, who tell him to keep you at bay before you go set something on fire.

Once he's made sure you can't get away, he'll hold you super close to himself as to calm you down a little and will ask you multiple times how you are feeling.

He doesn't get an answer, of course, and if he does, it's just incoherent babbling.

Probably gets you a glass of water or something, not realizing it makes you feel worse.

If you get sentimental and start crying, he'll cry too.

He lets out a long sigh of relief as you slowly close your eyes and pray for you to stay away from alcohol for as long as possible.

Fugo 🍓

Fugo doesn't really have an opinion on alcohol and is okay with his partner drinking some once in a while. He's never seen someone get drunk in front of him though, and remains stiff at first, when he realizes that the liquid has reached your brain.

A part of him immediately starts to panic as soon as he sees you approach a bunch of strangers and reveal some personal, embarrassing stuff about yourself and your boyfriend. Fugo has to use all of his power of will in order NOT to snap at you and tell you to stop making a fool out of yourself.

He'll push you away and get you home as soon as he can, probably accidentally making you fall on the ground in the heat of the moment, he didn't mean to, I swear.

He starts to blame himself for letting you end up in such poor conditions and apologies to you multiple times, as he helps you sit down on the nearest armchair he spots in the huge salon.

He goes to get you a blanket and comes back to you lying on the floor and giggling to yourself. He let out an annoyed sight as he contemplates asking for help, when a realization finally hits him: he may not have dealt with someone drunk before, but he tries his best to keep the "one braincell duo" under control. Your brain activity at the moment is the same Mista and Narancia always have. If he can handle them, he can handle you.

He assists you with laying a bit more comfortably and makes you rest your head on his chest with a nervous smile on his face, in a somewhat desperate, but well intended, way of reassuring you.

He usually doesn't like way intimate physical contact like this one, but decides to make an exception due to the circumstances.

He'll ask Purple haze to go get him your favorite book and gently begins to read it out loud to you, he knows it helps you relax. When he's not yelling, his tone of voice is actually a rather soft one and is pleasant to listen to.

He can't help but crack a little smile if you were to say something random out of the blue.

Only after you fall asleep he realizes that there's the possibility of you waking up and feeling the urge to vomit, so his stand grabs a basin as well, just in case.

It probably takes him quite a while to fall asleep, because of the position you're both laying in and because he fears what would happen if you woke up feeling even sicker.

As a result, he ends up not getting much rest that night. The morning after he will act as if nothing is wrong with him, but he will be asking you multiple times how you are feeling and if you remember anything about the night before.

Abbacchio 🔄

I'm honestly surprised you didn't get both drunk considering who we're talking about. In this case, the two of your were trying some wines together during one of your nights off. However, you forgot how much the man can handle alcohol compared to you.

In a very poor attempt at looking fancy and classy in front of him, you ended up becoming exactly the opposite of what you were trying to achieve.

Abbacchio knows that sensation too well, although unlike you, he gets even moodier and harder to deal with than usual. He does feel some sort of empathy for you in this situation, and will put an hand over your hip as he guides you back home.

As soon as you arrive, he asks you if you need to go to the restroom and accompanies you if you answer "yes". The sight of the situation...Is nothing new to him, although it's not a pleasant one.

Once you're done, he leads you to your shared bedroom and just...Caresses you with a gentleness that almost doesn't seem to belong to him.

He doesn't feel the need to calm you down with words, he believes you wouldn't understand him anyway. He's not one for physical affection, but he feels a bit more comfortable in this context, as you don't even fully realize what is going on.

He's confused by your naivety and cheerfulness in this state, but simply observes you as you keep on smiling at him with this innocent look on your face.

He finds himself smiling back, but doesn't even realize it until you mention it.

It's an old habit of him, but I believe he would still keep some emergency food in his room just in case, maybe even just apple slices wrapped in a napkin. He invites you to have some, making sure you don't accidentally choke.

He won't sleep that night either. He feels like it's his duty to be there for you the whole time while you're in this state, just like someone else was there for him before.

Trish 🎙

Trish is a minor, but I don't really see her enjoying alcohol in general if I'm being honest, only extremely fancy cocktails, and those are a rarity too.

It doesn't even cross her mind the thought that maybe, just maybe, you're not as picky as her when it comes to this sort of thing. This leads to her actually being quite in shock when she sees you getting drunk for the first time.

I'm guessing this took place during one of the many parties she attends as a pop star, but as soon as she notices some excessive hiccups from you, she will quickly come up with an excuse for you to leave the place before the situation gets out of hand.

She partially blames herself for not being careful enough with you, but she knows that it's not something too out of the ordinary for people of your age, and soon switches her focus on making sure you feel better...Or at least, not worse.

In the moment she dials the number, a taxi is already there to pick the two of you up. Trish makes you rest on her shoulder during the whole ride and is very delicate with helping you walk out of the car once you arrive, one step at a time.

She's never dealt with someone drunk though, so she is a bit clueless as to what practically do once she gets you to sit down. As such, she checks online for advices and guides on to how to act.

Not to her surprise, it says not to leave you alone even for just a moment, which gives her a nice excuse for pampering and cuddling with you.

She'll notice your bright red cheeks and will comment on how adorable they look, before kissing your forehead.

If you'd like to, since she's feeling good, she'll let you play with her hair, as long as it keeps you happy and distracted from causing any sort of trouble.

She also knows how people become more honest when they're drunk, and will probably get you to spill some secrets about the gang to her, or she will ask you some provocative questions like if you really love her and such.

Once she sees you falling asleep, she's quick to join after you. It was a rather peaceful rest for the two of you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨4

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) only plot hehe

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m at my tipping point, I swear. I’m dealing with everything in our household, new bed (delayed delivery yay!), cleaning, cooking, dog walking, and working. My only escape are my fics and this weekend I’m telling everyone to fuck off so I can do the writeathon... but sorry for the rant, enjoy more Clark.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Wednesday trickled by like sand in a glass. You could hardly keep your eyes open as you typed away and a double espresso shot was the only thing that saw you through your hours at the gallery. Vanessa was excited for her next event and already asking after some new pieces from you. You promised her some from your storage unit to stave her off as you held in your yawns. 

You collapsed into bed that night beside Marcus. He complained about his day until he drifted off and you followed suit shortly after. You awoke with a decision, the echoes of your boyfriend’s gripes in your head and heart. You hated how miserable his job made him, how dull your own was. It felt like there was nothing else but the almighty dollar.

You called Clark after an email to Jim, your nerves alight in anticipation of the disgruntled reply. It didn’t matter. You were done. You didn’t need to worry about the all caps messages and curt zoom calls.

“Hey,” Clark picked up, he sounded out of breath.

“Oh, hey, sorry, it’s me,” you swiveled in your chair, “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nope, just getting in a work out,” he grunted, “you’re not bugging me if you have good news for me.”

“I think… I do,” you forced out, “I just sent in my resignation.”

“Mmm, you don’t sound… happy,” he hummed.

“I am, I think I’m just processing it,” you replied, “I said I’d let you know today so I’m letting you know.”

“Well, how soon can you be here?” he asked.

“Today?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I guess, I could leave as soon as you want me,” you said.

“I’ll send a car,” he intoned, “I’ll give the driver your number, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah,” your voice almost squeaked, “I can do that.”

“Alright, sweetheart, see ya soon.”

The line cut out and you lowered your phone slowly. You stared at Outlook and the new email icon along the taskbar. You closed the laptop and stood. You could worry about the fallout later, right now, you had to get ready for another day of painting.

🎨

It was starting to feel like deja vu every time you arrived at Clark’s house. You got out and thanked the drive, Jeremy, before he drove off. The doors opened before you got to the top of the steps and your host was already dressed in the same outfit he wore for each session. His hair was neat but his beard was even thicker than before.

“I think you can tell I’m a little antsy to start,” he chuckled, “how are you, sweetheart?”

That pet name caught in your mind again. It might just be a habit of his. Nothing more than an absent-minded word.

“Me too, honestly,” you smiled, “but I have a weird question for you.”

“Ask away,” he said as he walked with you through the foyer.

“The beard… you want that in the portrait or--”

“Oh, ha, yeah,” he ran his fingers along his jawline, “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re the artist, what do you think?”

“Well, erm, either way is fine,” you said, “I was just… wondering. I’m not even close to starting on, uh, you yet. I mean, right now I’m just working on the background and basic shapes.”

“I’ll let you make the call when you get there,” he said, “say the word and it’s gone.”

“Alright,” you came to the top of the stairs and he pointed you ahead of him.

He followed you as you entered and you went about filling the jar with water and resituating the set up. He sat as you mixed and chose your brush. You climbed the ladder and peered around the canvas at him. He took on the same pose as usual and you dipped the bristles into the pigment. You could make a happy life of this.

🎨

Clark shifted and cleared his throat. You rolled your wrist and glanced back over at him as you drew your hand back from the canvas. He braced the chair and pushed himself up.

“How about a break?” he asked as he shook out his arms, “back’s a bit stiff.”

“Sure,” you said, “I think I could sit down for a moment.”

You took a step down the rung of the ladder but your toe slipped and suddenly your palette was against your chest. You slid down backwards as Clark rushed over and barely kept you from toppling the entire thing over. You laughed at yourself as he righted you and looked down at your paint-streaked shirt.

“Jesus,” you muttered.

“You okay?” he asked as he kept his hand on your upper arm, “be careful.”

“Yeah, I’m-- clumsy, is all,” you carefully pulled away and set down your brush and palette.

“Come on, sit,” he pulled up the stool and planted it before you, “take a minute.”

As you sat, he stretched his arms over his head and then out to the sides. He paced around the other side of the table, long strides as he worked the cramps from his long legs. He stopped and came up to play with a brush as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“Well, I did have another offer for you,” he said, “I was thinking of waiting but might as well ask now.”

“Oh?” you raised your brows curiously.

He swished a slender brush in the air then lowered it and picked at the tip.

“I’m having a get together on Saturday, some business friends and the like,” he said as he set the brush back with the rest, “it won’t be work. You’ve earned some time off. You can even bring the boyfriend.”

“Saturday?” you pondered, “I’m usually at the gallery on Saturdays.”

“It would be great networking,” he said, “and I already told all my friends about you. They’re excited to see your work. It will almost be like a viewing and it’s only right the artist is there.”

“I could make it work,” you mulled, “Marcus would love to come back.” You snickered, “he loves this place.”

“It’s a nice house,” he said casually, “a bit big for one person… hence, the party.”

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” you stood and slid your palette closer and cleaned it off to remix the mess of paints.

“Great,” he said as he rounded the table and brushed close to you, “it’ll be nice to look at a mug besides mine, huh?”

You laughed as you squeezed out the dark paint and nodded, “ha, sure.”

🎨

The rest of your week was spent much the same. Jeremy drove you to Clark’s and you went up to the studio to continue your work between small talk and silences that grew so thick you had to break them with mindless comments. It wasn’t enough to focus on the path of your brush as the man tugged at your attention.

Marcus was excited when you told him about the party. He raved about how he needed to let loose, about how much expensive alcohol he was going to drink, and the awesome backflip he was gonna do into the pool. You reminded him, he hadn’t done anything like that since college but he swore he could still do it.

You didn’t share the sentiment. You were anxious. You were flattered to be invited but despite what Clark said, it still felt like work. His friends were going to be there and he apparently was trying to sell them on your art. 

You didn’t realise until after you hit send on your email, but you put your livelihood in this man’s hands. A man, you reminded yourself, who was little more than a stranger.

On Friday, a day you were thankfully not called to the mansion to teeter on the ladder and paint, the buzzer rang and drew you off the couch from amid your YouTube binge. The man on the speaker called back that he had a delivery and you let him up. You took the box from him, the thick silver ribbon giving away the sender even before you could read the tag.

Inside you found a black dress with little gemstones set into the fabric like stars in the sky. It was nicer than anything you’d ever owned before and a pair of silver shoes were tucked in beneath the outfit. You took the shoes from the tissue paper and something else shifted in the bottom.

You reached in and revealed a velvet box from the depths of overzealous stuffing. You opened the lid and found a simple chain of diamonds. You gaped in disbelief. They were real. The fake ones didn’t look so nice.

You phone chimed before you could even think to call Clark. It was as if he could see you. You answered and your voice warbled pathetically.

“Hi, I was just gonna call,” you touched your throat as it constricted.

“Yeah? I got the notification that it was delivered,” he said, “you like it?”

“It’s too much,” you gulped out, “really, I can’t--”

“I want you to look nice. I want you to feel good and have a good time,” he said, “I feel like you’ve been working so hard. You need a chance to just let it all go.”

“Look, I…” you were uncertain how to handle it. It was more than generosity but you felt wrong denying it as much as you did accepting it, “I’ve never had a boss buy me diamonds. At least let me give those back.”

“Boss?” he mused on the word, “I suppose, but you gotta dress the part now, sweetheart. You’re gonna rub shoulders with a lot of rich dicks like me. Pardon my language.”

“I didn’t realise it was such an upscale thing,” you put the velvet box down and turned to sit on the couch beside the large box. You played with the silver ribbon and chewed your lip.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing, you got this,” he said, “trust me, if you can win me over, my friends will be child’s play.”

“Mhmmm,” you stared at the tv mindlessly, “Clark?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There was silence and you heard him sigh then a subtle metallic click.

“Because I can. And you’re a talented artist. Didn’t all the big painters used to have patrons back in the day? You know, Da Vinci and all that.”

“Sure, I guess--”

“Look, sweetheart, I’m glad you like the dress, I gotta go.”

He hung up abruptly and you turned your phone to stare at it in confusion. You were starting to get a bad feeling and that little voice in that back of your head, that little sabotaging bitch, whispered in your ear. No, you wouldn’t let your self-doubt get the best of you this time. You either grabbed this chance or you spent the rest of your life doing menial work and painting the world as it passed you by.

🎨

Friday night, Marcus couldn’t stop rambling about the party the next day. You just couldn’t get over the tickle in your chest, the same one you got before job interviews and doctor’s appointments. You were on edge, even as you spent your stress on him, your body writhing against his as you panted and pouted. It had been a while since you fucked. All the work and the stress had just let things slip past you. Maybe with your new gig, you could get back to those early days when it was all you wanted to do.

You slept soundly. You blamed the sex and the momentous week. You got up, had a lazy brunch time meal, and beat Marcus at MarioKart several times over before he convinced you it was time to get ready. 

You pulled on the gifted outfit after fighting with your make-up and hair. You gave a little tada spin to Marcus and he lifted his brow as he tried to figure out his tie.

“Wow, where’d you get that?” he purred, “fuck, let’s be late.”

He ran his hands over your hips as you neared him and fixed his tie for him. You giggled and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Jeremy’s on his way,” you warned, “I don't wanna bite the hand that feeds.”

“Oh, and it feeds you well,” Marcus chirped, “you think he’ll let me have a spin in the McClaren?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t. I don’t need to scrape you off the side of the road,” you took your phone as the screen lit up, “come on, he’s here.”

“Fuck, babe, really, you’re gonna make me follow you out of here with your ass looking like that?”

“Stop,” you tittered, “you know, there might be more sellers tonight?”

“Oh yeah? I guess you’ll be paying a mortgage soon enough.”

“Me?” you scoffed.

“Sure, I’ll be your sugar baby,” he kidded.

“Well, baby is accurate,” you teased as you stepped onto the elevator, “please, just behave.”

🎨

You were surprised to see Vanessa at the party but reassured to see a familiar face. Clark had been distracted by his other guests and you did your best to mingle, letting Marcus take the lead until he was distracted by another guest’s Rolex and started asking too many questions. If you did start selling art to these kinds, you suspected you’d be paying for a lot of overpriced brands. That was a worry for another time.

You stood with Vanessa and a man she introduced you to. Bruce Wayne was tall and his dark-hair was combed back neatly as he spoke over the glass of wine in his hand. You were bored of the Monet-Manet argument, one you’d heard a million times from the stubborn gallery owner, and you were at your limit of socialisation.

You excused yourself and put down your unfinished drink on a table. You looked around but couldn’t see Marcus anywhere. The last you saw him, he was with Clark but you couldn’t find him either. You frowned and wandered between the pairs and trios gabbing around the room.

Just past the bar, you looked back and still no sign of either man. You huffed and your heels clicked into the foyer and to the stairs. You’d go to the studio and sit for a moment and collect yourself. You just needed to take a breath.

You climbed the stairs slowly, the din of the party floating up behind you. You came to the top but stopped as your eyes were drawn to a pair of open doors opposite the studio. You neared and stayed against the wall as you peeked inside. Marcus admired an old-six shooter and spun the barrel.

“You got everything, man, I swear,” you hid behind the door frame and listened.

“Eh, it’s all just things,” Clark replied, “I bought that from an auctioneer down in Texas. A verified antique but it just hangs here. Not good for much but looking at it.”

“Dude, what I wouldn’t do to live here? Have cool guns and even cooler cars? Shit, you know how fucked it is that my lady is making bank and I’m over here with my dick in my hands? I mean, I’m proud of her but… I mean, if I could get paid thousands for drawing, I would’ve tried to learn.”

“She’s good. Dedicated,” Clark remarked, “she’s special. Worth more than money.”

Marcus hummed and you heard the barrel click back into the place. Neither of the men spoke as you heard something shift and Clark cleared his throat. Subtle footsteps moved around the room and you pressed yourself to the wall. You should leave and let them talk but you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Isn’t she?” Clark prodded.

“Y-yeah, but… I don’t know. I just wish I had more,” Marcus said, “I probably sound like a chump, huh?”

“You can’t have it all,” Clark replied.

“Says the guy who can buy anything and everything,” Marcus moped.

“Oh?” Clark intoned, “so… how about it then? Fifty thousand.”

“For what?” Marcus chuckled nervously.

“Her,” Clark answered.

“Her-- I… my girlfriend?” he sputtered.

“If money can buy me anything, that’s what I want,” Clark said firmly, “it’s a one time offer… whether or not you agree to it, I’m gonna fuck her.”

You skin crawled at his words and you covered your mouth in disgust and shock. You inched closer to the door to hear better as you waited for the response.

“One hundred,” Marcus said.

“Seventy-five,” Clark countered.

“That’s my girlfriend, dude,” Marcus hissed.

“And yet you’re haggling with me over her. Eighty.”

You tore yourself from the wall before you could hear anymore. You felt hollow and heavy all at once. Your eyes were glossy as you scurried over to the studio doors and pushed the left one open. You unhooked the diamond necklace and tossed it onto the paint-stained palette and rolled up your brushes.

You stormed over blindly to the easel and pushed it over. It clattered to the floor loudly but you were already out the door and halfway down the stairs. You gripped your clutch and the bundle of paintbrushes tightly as you continued on outside and the blurred outlines of luxury cars passed you by. 

You stomped up the long drive in your heels as you flicked away tears and pulled out your phone. You knew it was too good to be true. Any of it; your art, Clark, Marcus. You weren’t good for anyone unless they could get something out of you.

[jockpoetry]

drop the trans fic rec list pls <3

Quick Disclaimers: 1) I’m gonna pop under a read more so it can be a living list / updated as I come across fics I like. 2) I will fully admit ahead of time all of these are transmasc fics. There are definitely some really good transfemme fics out there, but I haven’t read enough/am not transfemme so I wouldn’t feel comfortable offering recs for an experience (adjacent to but) not my own. 3) I think it’s important to highlight trans authors as far too often fics written by cis folks are the ones shared about in fandom, and those fics way too quickly slide into the realm of fetishization and trauma porn. (Even if it’s unintentional, or goes unnoticed by cis readers.) So I’ve really tried to make sure this list is highlighting people from within the community. Not all of these authors are trans, but a fair few are.

All that being said here are the various and sundry trans fics I’ve thoroughly enjoyed organized via author not tiers. There are some (slight) spoilers in the content warnings!

traveling light - sharkfish | e | mod. au | 42.7k | trans!cas

dean (who works for a towing company) has followed thursday’s trips (a travel blog) for awhile and when the author posts about car issues he finally gets the courage to reach out. the two become friends and talk via text and become closer. it is easily my favorite fic i’ve read, hands down. i’ve read better fics, better characterization, but this one just ticks all the boxes for me as a trans guy. it hit very close to home and helped me close the book on a relationship i’d had last year and i just cannot rec this one enough.

cws: mild dysphoria, talks of transphobia, alcoholism/addiction, cas gets outed against his will at one point in the fic.

daybreak - sharkfish | m | mod. au | 2.8k | trans!cas

a timestamp for/continuation of the above fic, it explores trans healthcare issues, cas’ dysphoria, an off-screen transphobic event, but it is resolved incredibly sweetly and i am a huge softy who did get misty eyed. it’s just a fairly open and honest look at being trans and being in a relationship and the hills and valleys of life.

cws: dysphoria, talks of transphobia in healthcare, an off-screen upsetting/traumatic transphobic event is referenced but not explicitly shown/explained.

love in the time of quarantine - sharkfish | e | quarantine fic | mod. au | 6.8k | trans!cas

dean and cas are neighbors, know each other just in passing, but dean a bit overzealous/anxious about his roommate potentially having COVID-19 stops by to see if it would be okay if he crashed at cas’ for a few days just to be safe. cas is a paleontology professor, dean is an artist. it is just a very silly, feel-good, domestic fic that will make you wish you were sheltering-in-place with a partner if you aren’t.

cws: covid talk, recreation drug/alcohol use (that’s all i can think of off the top of my head but i’ll reread and add anymore).

all this and heaven too - ftmsteverogers | e | canon | 7k | trans!dean

this fic makes me feel some kind of way, it was the first trans!dean fic i read that really led me down the path of reading trans fics. it just slaps. i think about their conversation re: cas’ raising dean from perdition literally every single day. it hits a lot of checkmarks that cis authors miss, in my opinion. plus it’s just cas cupping dean’s face and telling him on purpose. it’s about how dean isn’t ashamed of being with cas but he is ashamed of himself and it’s cas sitting beside him, loving him, and telling him he doesn’t need to hide. he deserves to be loved as he is. i also think cas in this is just...exceptionally well-written in this, his otherness as an angel is captured nicely, as is his love as a form of worship mentality too.

cws: mostly just internalized transphobia, author includes further comments in the end notes.

tell me i’m deserving - ftmsteverogers | e | canon | 3.8k | trans!dean

honestly this one is just sexy! i don’t even know how to sum it up besides that. cas is rightfully (and righteously) angry about how dean thinks he deserves the injuries he sustains makes it clear what he deserves is love. tbh all you need to know is that cas at one point says “my marks are different...my marks come from love.” and “i told you i’d give you what you deserve...not what you want.” and “turned out, cas loved giving head. he did it with a dedication that bordered on religious.” 🥴 so yeah, this one just fucks. that’s it. that’s all. there’s so much of this fic that makes me feel, as the kids say, unzipped.

cws: internalized transphobia, dean’s issues with unworthiness re: internalized transphobia. author includes further comments in the end notes.

breaking routine - fannishlyyours | e | mod. au | 31.2k | trans!dean

dean’s working two jobs, has gone to therapy, is physically transitioned, and happy! functioning! cas is a visiting professor of child psychology. it’s sweet. it explores lots of consent and open conversations and vulnerability. i appreciated how even if this dean is in a happy and functioning place he is still hiding and...works through some final hurdles throughout the course of the fic. i also like that the story doesn’t shy away from some of the pain of being a mlm transman and the nerves of that reality. how you feel like you’ll never been man enough. lots of really quality lesbian jo content in this too.

cws: chapter three discusses child sexual abuse and suicide and it is definitely upsetting, the author gives you a heads up ahead of time (both in the tags and before the chapter) but it is definitely upsetting so just a heads up. it’s about a minor character, not the boys. there’s transphobia (including a scene with a gay man being shitty about dean being trans) and some dysphoria talk as well. as well as discussion of body policing (not only of trans folk but of people of color as well) so heads up about some racism in here too. and for all you john winchester haters oh boy! he sucks in this!!

an exploration of gender; angelic - sometimeswelose | m | canon | 4k | trans!cas

this is one of those fics where i’m not sure i’m smart enough to fully understand it (science! not my forte!), but as a character study it’s such a great read. the bit about angels and how brother and sibling aren’t accurate it’s more like weapon of our father and how father is inaccurate too it’s more like commander/creator and how family is a unit of war does live rent free in my head. this fic does contain spoilers for his dark materials so??? if you’re worried about that, heads up i guess! the bit re: his dark materials makes me feel wild, and the author like really hit on something with the comparison they make. i also really just like how this fic absolutely encapsulates my feelings about canonical gay trans man castiel. it’s a really good fic.

cws: discussion of homophobia, lots of talk about nazis/wwii/the colonization of gender.

[archived-kin]

you braid your favourite fire boy’s hair (and get indirectly confessed to, maybe)

note from kin: some of you may say that diluc is too calm and stoic to be an arsonist but i refuse to believe the man hasn't set a tiny bit of fire to kaeya’s house at some point or another

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, diluc, aether (mentioned), venti (mentioned)

pairing(s): diluc/reader

warning(s): none! (except, like, hair brushing and stuff? i don’t if that counts but i also don’t know what sort of trauma people have so,,, here’s the warning just in case)

genre: fluff

“How do you even manage your hair?”

Diluc shoots you a look over the bar as you lean forward on the counter. “What are you talking about?”

It’s another one of those nights where Mondstadt and the area around it is pretty quiet. Normally you’d be out doing commissions or just general favours for the public with your adventuring buddy Aether and his friend (pet? guardian fairy?) Paimon, but he’s been in Liyue for the last week or so helping Zhongli run some errands, and likely won’t be back for another few days. He had asked you whether you’d wanted to come with him - the two of you make a dynamic duo like no other, after all - but the last time you’d spent time with Zhongli, you’d ended up having to pay about ten thousand Mora in terms of expenses on his behalf. You love the guy, but he really grinds your gears with his inability to comprehend how basic currency works sometimes.

So off Aether had gone to Liyue, though not without promising to bring you back a Starconch or something in return for your offer to patrol his area for him in his absence, and you had stayed behind in Mondstadt, promising to let him know if anything about his missing twin sister comes up while he’s gone.

As much as you’d like to (mostly for poor Aether’s fragile sense of self worth), you can’t say it’s been a particularly difficult week without him in terms of work - you miss your friend, of course, but there haven’t really been any outstanding attacks in the area that you didn’t manage to take care of within the hour. The lack of disturbances also means that Mr Darknight Hero over there hasn’t had much to do either, so he’s spent most of the past few nights behind the bar - which means, of course, that you’ve been coming is much more often than usual to see him.

Angel’s Share is a bar by trade, so of course it’s open all night to any gracious patron looking for something to drink. More than often it’s full, being one of the more renowned taverns in the city, but today is a day of rest, and so Diluc had closed up shop about half an hour ago.

Why are you still allowed in Angel’s Share if it’s closed, you ask? Well, obviously it’s because Diluc likes you so much!

No, that’s a lie - while you’ve always thought of Diluc as a close friend, you’re more inclined to believe that Diluc himself is only letting you stay here past closing time because he owes you for helping him out with a particularly overzealous Abyss Mage that had gotten a little too close to the city gates yesterday.

Still, you can’t help but hope that there’s some other reason behind his lenience...

“Hair’s hard to take care of, and you have a lot of it,” You respond matter-of-factly, dipping a biscuit into your mug of tea and shoving it whole into your mouth. Much like Diluc, you prefer to abstain from alcohol when you can - ironic, considering you’ve spent so much time in a bar recently. “I’m just curious. What do you do with it when you go to sleep?”

He shakes his head with a quiet scoff and returns to polishing an empty tankard. “I don’t do anything with it.”

“What, so you just leave it in a ponytail all the time?”

Diluc looks up to see you shooting him a scandalised look. He sighs, evidently not particularly willing to put up with one of your moods this late at night. “Of course not.”

You relax a little, only to stiffen right back up when he continues, “I take it down to wash it.”

“You—” You take a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself, setting your elbows on the table and pressing your hands together as if praying to Barbatos to save this poor man’s hair-ends. Finally, after a moment of silence, you ask, voice hushed, as if afraid that the answer will be too much for you to handle, “How the hell is your hair still so pretty?”

Diluc pauses in the middle of putting his freshly-polished tankard away. He takes a long while to formulate a response - whether because he’s nonplussed by the gormlessness of your question or something else (because he’s flustered, maybe? You know better than to hope in vain, but you can’t really help what your idiot of a heart does to your mind).

Finally, though, he mutters in reply, “Pretty?”

Your hand hesitates in the middle of reaching for another biscuit from the plate sitting next to you. Diluc doesn’t sound offended, but you know better than to assume that he isn’t. You don’t think there’s anything particularly wrong with calling his hair pretty, but maybe it stings his ego as a man or something?

“Uh, yeah…?” You curl your fingers around your warm mug and pull it towards you, staring determinedly down at its contents to disguise your growing nervousness. “I mean, well, it always looks really healthy and soft and glowy and stuff…”

Well, if he wasn’t offended before, he probably is now. You mentally cuff yourself around the head, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t let yourself get loose-lipped just because you’re so relaxed in the homeliness of the tavern. It doesn’t matter how comforting the warmth of the mug in your hands is, nor does it matter how fuzzy just being in Dilic’s presence makes you feel - you need to watch what you say.

But then you see Diluc move out of the corner of your eye, and you look back up to see him standing much closer than he was before, a smile tugging at his lips. You can practically feel your heart screech out of pure surprised joy as he reaches out and gently brushes his knuckles against your cheek.

“Thank you,” He murmurs - do you dare to hope that you hear affection in his voice? - and pulls away as quickly as he’d come close. “I appreciate it.”

You aggressively force your breathing to even out as he moves back to his work, going about his usual duties of making sure all the bottles on display are tightly shut and squeaky clean. Surely the fact that he willingly initiated contact with you - and such intimate-feeling contact at that - must mean something? Diluc has never been the type to be physically affectionate with friends, not like Kaeya, who you’re pretty sure has kissed about half of his entire friendship circle, or Lisa, who has absolutely zero qualms about giving a stranger a bone-crushing hug if they need one. Even if this only means that he considers you a closer friend than the others, though, you can’t help the delighted flutter in the pit of your stomach.

Diluc’s touch has far more power than you’ll ever admit - brief as the contact was, it’s sent such a rush of adrenaline through your entire body that you somehow muster up enough courage to abruptly ask, “Would you mind if I braided it?”

Diluc pauses again. You watch him in anticipation as he slowly turns around to look back at you. “...why would you want to do that?”

“Uh—” You struggle to come up with a decent reason that won’t make you sound like a lovesick fool, and eventually settle on, “I just think it would look nice?”

Diluc stares at you in silence for so long that you begin to think that you’ve lost him completely with your out-of-nowhere request. Then, however, he gives you a curt nod. “Go ahead.”

You barely catch yourself in time to prevent your shock from showing on your face as Diluc moves out from behind the counter and sits down in the seat beside you. “...uh?”

“Go ahead,” He repeats, reaching up and untying his hair from its low ponytail. It tumbles over the back of the chair in messy waves, reflecting the light of the fire so precisely that it almost looks like it’s glowing in the dim lighting of the tavern. “I assume you know how, since you offered.”

It takes you a moment to do something other than stare in pure dumbfounded surprise, but once you snap out of your mini-trance, you nod hurriedly and get to your feet, reaching in your pocket as you do so. You’ve made a habit of carrying around spare hair ties and a foldable wooden comb ever since you and Aether had started working together - his hair comes undone from its plait a lot in battle, and it’s always all matted and tangled in the morning if he lets it down to sleep - which means you won’t have to fumble about for an hour trying to comb’s Diluc’s abundance of hair out with only your fingers.

Diluc is sitting as prim and proper as ever in his chair as you hesitantly move around to stand behind him and - after a long, uncertain pause - begin to brush his hair. His back is ramrod straight, which doesn’t look comfortable at all, but you suppose that whatever works for him is fine.

“That feels nice,” He murmurs quietly as you carefully tease out a knot. Your hands freeze for a moment, then silently continue with their work. “You’re good at this.”

After a pause, you reply, equally quiet, “I get a lot of practice.”

He hums in reply, and the deep rumble of his voice almost seems to fill the room. “...with Aether, I presume.”

You nod, then realise he can’t see you and hurry to give him a verbal answer. “Yeah.”

There’s a long silence between the two of you. You continue to work your way through Diluc’s abundance of hair, painstakingly spending far too long combing out each tangle and kink out of fear that you’ll hurt him if you get too rough.

You don’t know how much time has passed by the time Diluc finally speaks up again. “You spend a lot of time with him.”

It’s a statement, not a question - but you can’t blame him for phrasing him that way. It’s well-known around the city of Mondstadt that you and Aether have been partners-in-crime ever since the two of you had bonded over nearly being stampeded by a swarm of hilichurls and working together to kill them all. It’s odd that he’s bringing it up now, though… you wonder why.

“...well, I do, yes. We are adventuring partners…”

Diluc inhales and lets out a soft sigh. You don’t miss the way that his shoulders tense up slightly. Another long silence passes, and he finally murmurs, “I might be a little jealous.”

You freeze again. Did you hear him right? Did Diluc really just say what you think he just said? He’s… jealous?

You don’t even have time to try to formulate a response before he starts speaking again. “The two of you are always out exploring together. It’s rare that we get to see each like this.”

“...hey, now…” It’s not often that you’re unable to find words - you’ve always had a sharp tongue. Right now, though, it feels like they’ve all dried up in your mouth. “What are you trying to say…?”

Diluc pauses. Then he lets out a soft chuckle - one that has no right to have the effect on you that it does. “...nothing. I just mean that it’s nice to be able to spend time together like this.”

He doesn’t continue, and you take that as a sign that this particular stretch of the conversation is over, and return to carefully separating his hair into segments. Your hands wobble imperceptibly as you do so, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Diluc sighs and lets his shoulders relax as you start pulling the locks of hair over each other into the beginnings of a long braid, carefully tugging it closer to the base of his head so that it looks a little neater. You’re not sure whether you want to go for something similar to Aethar’s plait or something more intricate, but considering the hour, you’d probably be better off keeping it simple. You wonder briefly what colour ribbon would look nice against the deep red of his hair, but quickly shut the idea down - it’s already a wonder that Diluc is letting you do this, and you don’t want to push your luck.

(You don’t know this, but, though his face is calm and composed, Diluc is so hyper aware of his stuttering heartbeat that he’s sure you can hear it. He almost wishes you would use more force with your hands, if only so that he can feel the movement of your fingers more clearly - there’s something therapeutic in the way they weave through his hair. He could almost fall asleep there on the spot, so soothing is your presence and the warmth of the fire, but he wants to talk longer.)

“Hey,” you begin, suddenly feeling that the quietude is more awkward than comfortable. “If you’re ever free, uh… I’m sure Aether wouldn’t mind if you came out on an expedition with us. There are some rumours about an Oceanid popping up in Starfell Lake…”

Diluc makes an indiscernible noise in response to indicate that he’s thinking about your question. You wait with bated breath, only to feel disappointment drop in your chest like a rock when he shakes his head, shifting the incomplete braid in your hands.

A moment later, though, the pressure disappears as he says quietly, “I’d much rather go with you alone.”

“Oh…” You breathe out loud before realising your mistake. You resist the urge to slap your hand to your mouth to shut yourself up, and instead hurry to rectify yourself by continuing, “That sounds good.”

Diluc chuckles again. “You don’t sound particularly enthused by the idea.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” You shock even yourself with just how indignantly loud your voice gets. You hasten to quiet yourself, continuing much more mutedly, “Um— I mean, I’d love to.”

You can’t see his face, but you can almost hear Diluc’s soft smile in the way he speaks. “Then it’s settled. I’ll take a look at my schedule and let you know when I’m free, alright?”

You can’t help but feel an enormous grin pulling at your own mouth. Well, can anyone really blame you? You’ve just discovered that your unrequited feelings for Diluc might not be as unrequited as you’d initially thought! It’s almost too good to be true - as if you’re dreaming. It’s like the two of you are one of those couples in Venti’s songs, the ones that he likes to play after a good hour of so of drinking, staring meaningfully at you at the end of each… line…

Wait a minute…

A flame-haired noble with a stare as cold as ice, who does his duties by day and hunts evil at night? An adventurer with no roots left at home, who clings to action so as to not feel so alone? The longing stares across a busy room, the late nights thinking of a face so dear, the romance waiting to blossom and bloom, the hopes and wishes that they would stay here?

Son of a hilichurl! That cheeky bard really wrote a song about you and Diluc - and you somehow hadn’t noticed!

“What’s wrong?”

You jolt out of your train of thought as Diluc turns around to look at you. The faint concern on his face is enough to send butterflies spinning through your stomach. Stupid heart. Am I really that weak for this man? “Huh?”

“You haven’t moved in a while,” He says by way of explanation, gesturing to the end of the braid that you’re still holding. “Is there something bothering you?”

You stare at his face - at the deep red of his irises, the flutter of his long lashes, the strands of red hair framing his face, the faint freckles on the slope of his nose. You breathe out a quiet laugh. Perhaps there will never be a time when you can tell him the true extent of how you feel about him, but this will certainly be a start.

“No, nothing at all. So, about tomorrow…?”